Wing Company moved.
Farther away.
AAAAAAAAAARGH.

Was kind of remarkably craptastic.

Work sucked for any series of ridiculous and most likely illogical, petty reasons along with a shift change and unloading a truck with customers in the store.

But things improved thereafter because I went out to Borders for coffee with Sheila and Hannah [coworkers of +5 awesome] and my peppermint mocha trio thinggummy was fabulous.

Now I'm at home eating over-coagulated ramen with cheese while watching Dirty Jobs [one I have seen, sadly] and smelling the nasty burned-plastic smell that comes from having a pan with a broken handle that periodically slips upside down and sits waaaaaay too close to the burner and gets all melty.

I just saw the Applebee's Veteran's Day commercial and was reminded of something.

To everyone I know and don't know in the military, thank you and God bless you. You do things I could never manage, and in doing so allow me to live in my own idiocy. Thank you.

MIKEY! I had a dream where I was hanging out with Jamie and Rodney and some other people and we were talking about you. So I related something to them about the last time I visited you...IN FLASHBACK. It was awesome. You and I were hanging out and talking about how you had gotten into your chemistry group thing and they gave you a really cool alarm clock.

I have no idea why any of this was in my head.

Heather and I were just having a conversation about boys. I essentially joked that sometimes I wished more boys would be interested in me, like with her, the poor thing. I topped off the statement with being happy I was invisible, except, of course, to zombies. She offered to trade. The conversation ended as such:

Leslie: You say that until they try to eat your brains. They all move too fast--first date, brains. It's all they can think about!
Heather: At least they like a girl with brains.

And yes, it is an actual other person, not some vague shimmering imaginary person I put out there because I want to talk about my own problems. But my own problems are involved.

But I have this friend. And I told her about National Novel Writing blah blah blah. And I made the mistake of making, more or less, a deal with her. We were both to spend at least three separate hours each week of November writing on a specific project. After each hour, we are to send the other an email regarding what was written--how we feel, how much we got done, that kind of stuff. [Jenn, this should sound really familiar to you!]

The problem is that I'm off to a rough start because I'm kind of a loser like that, and won't be able to get rolling for a while just yet.

And that I promised her a long, inspirational email. I don't know anything about inspiring people...so I just kind of wrote what follows.

Writing should be a lot less like fishing and more like catfish noodling. Fishing is where you're just sort of casting your line into the who-knows-where and hoping some stray idea comes along and thinks, "Ooo, tasty bit of tinfoil." Then you write. Noodling is a bit more risky. Instead of doing a lot of casting and pull-backs, you're trudging out in the mud in a creek or pond or whatever, where you cannot see through the water and then finding a hole. There's no tinfoil here--you stick your arm in, and you hope to high hell that what grabs you will be big, juicy, and kind of awesome. Sure, you're spending a lot of time, because a lot of the time you are spending is looking for the catfish--you start out writing in a direction and hope you get what you want. Unfortunately, with writing like this you run the risk of getting your hours [instead of your fingers] sheared off by a bad idea, a snapping turtle instead of a catfish. The effort might have been in vain, but you have gained experience and hopefully some drive.

I know it makes sense for how I write--I pick a direction and go until I can't anymore [Greg, look out for that wall!], you know? Sometimes it works, sometimes I really do lose it to the snapper. I was wondering what tidbits others might have. Your thoughts, additions, subtractions, corrections, witticisms...

[Also to be posted on facebook, just so you know.]

...it's Friday morning, 6 AM. I am confused. Grace isn't flipping out. I heard her whimper earlier, but no mad dog barking. I wonder when the garbage truck chorus begins...

Castle's mom IS CRUELLA FREAKING De'VILLE.

Lula doesn't hate me! I didn't even have to avoid her!

However, I got a dirty look the third time I assured myself she wasn't mad at me. She does not support guilt complexes. She gives them dirty looks.

And Tom and Katy came Saturday night and it was awesome.

I'm supposed to go to a party. I don't want to. Lula will kill me if I don't show.

Seriously.

She said it's small--just forty or fifty people. How do I explain that the biggest party I've ever really been to was maybe fifteen?

And I am supposed to dress--costumes or some such. I figured I'd dress up and grab a wrench and be Prof. Plum. Probably still will, but I don't want to go. Mmmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr....thbb.

--edit--

Mind has been made--will not be going. It says something when you feel sick until you decide not to go. Doesn't it?

and anyone else who will enjoy it.

But mainly for Greg.



Found at poisonyoulove