Wednesday,
March 6, 2002

Hump Day my ass

Once again, I am dragging around like something that just crawled out of the protoplasmic sea. It doesn't help that I got an email reply from the anthology to which I sent "I Play Dead," saying that they closed in October. DAMMIT! Then why didn't their damn listing SAY this in the Bulletin? Oh, wait, maybe it did. I thought I checked that, though. . .

Oh, argh. It's times like this that I wonder why I even bloody bother. I know, I know -- because I actually want to publish my shit and get paid for it like any reasonable human being who spends hours hunched over a keyboard trying to convey why exactly an imaginary character decided to do this instead of that, and make it all sound plausible.

At this point in life, I'll settle for plausible. Preferably with a paycheck.

Yes, I'm being Little Miss Cranky Pants, and I don't really have a good reason for it -- I'm not PMSing, I'm not actively sick (although this constant post-nasal drip is starting to bug the shit out of me -- I must have allergies or something), I have money in the bank and all the bills are paid.

I dunno. Maybe I just need something like, oh, sleep?

Arrgh. My happy ass is heading for the medicine cabinet for a couple of melatonin. Maybe that'll finally knock me out.