Dog Poo and Probably Way Too Much Introspection

You know when you have one of those days? The kind where you realize too late that there is a hole in your dog's poo bag and that kind of sets the stage for the rest of the day? The kind where you almost put salsa on your English muffin and peanut butter rather than strawberry jam? The kind where they shut off the water to your office building so that a trip to the bathroom involves a coat, a brisk sprint across the parking lot and two badges? The kind where you look out into the great abyss and see everyone that you know is moving forward with their lives whilst you are standing in the freezing cold, staring stupidly at the dog poo on your hand?

Yep, it's that kind of a Monday. Or rather I guess it technically is Tuesday. I always get mixed up with long weekends. Especially long weekends where I spend my day off writing articles, cleaning the house, trying to work on my resume, and glumly looking at more rejection notices from job applications where I never made it beyond the initial resume phase (hence the working on the resume).

And then you find out your oldest friend in the world, the one who agreed to marry you at the age of 5 if you were both really old (like 30) and weren't married, has a kid. Not just has a kid but has a daughter who is nearly 2 years old. And extremely adorable.  For some reason, this knowledge has kind of struck me dumbfounded. I am literally sitting here, slack-jawed and incoherent. Not because I thought the now 30 year old contract (!!!) was still valid but because I had no idea that he had become a father.

It doesn't help that I have let my financial advisor (he is wonderfully competent and adorable when he tries to explain things to me and my eyes glaze over and I start to doodle) talk me out of quitting my job with no actual other job lined up. Then again, the sensible part of me--the one that tries to eat something more than pudding for dinner and go to bed early rather than watching old episodes of the West Wing--knew that this was what he was going to advise and that is probably why I went to see him before leaping off into the abyss.

He made some good points though and not just about how it's nice to be able to afford my mortgage and my dog's organic dog food. He said he can see that I'm serious about writing and that if that's what I want to do, that's what I should do. But that until I can convince someone to pay me a living wage doing that writing, that I should try to find a work environment that I enjoy and that will free me up for more time for the lovely writing. Although this makes sense, I'm kind of afraid that if I don't try it now, I'll never do it. Pull the band-aid off all in one fell swoop, jump without a safety net, etc.

The other thing that has me slightly bamboozled is that I was supposed to talk with my client tonight about the 2nd book I was going to write for him (whilst I'm still working on chapters for another book for him) and was nervous since when he and I spoke last, he asked if I was going to want to give him rights to all content. I was nervous because I didn't really want to do that but I do like working for him and didn't want things to be highly awkward.

Anyway, he started off the conversation by saying that he thinks I should write and publish the book myself. That it was my idea and he said it felt like he'd be taking my baby. He said he thought it would be a fun book and do well, then he gave me some advice and we chatted about his experiences in self-publishing and writing. Of course as soon as we hung up, self-doubt set in and I became convinced that he doesn't want to be involved in the book because he thinks it will be crap.

On that inspiring note, I better call it a night as it is a before-crack-o-dawn type day for me tomorrow. If you haven't gotten enough about me ranting about gender inequality (and how could that ever be possible), check out my latest article on The Snap Download and learn of my plans for making men wear more complicated outfits (cravats, hats and more!) so that we can hear reporters reduce them to their wardrobes and hairstyles rather than just hearing ad nauseum about the First Lady's bangs. You can also read an article where one of my fellow bloggers will teach you a fun new phrase in French.

So bonne nuit, mes amis. I'm feeling not so sensible and there's plenty of West Wing season 3 for me to still get thru.

Weighty Matters

For those of you who enjoyed my post, You Are What You Eat?, where I talk about lifelong issues with weight and body issues, check out my latest article at The Snap Download, titled When I Am Queen of Everything. First of all, who wouldn't want to live in a world where I am Queen of Everything? I mean, seriously, people. Admit it, you're curious what it would be like. How many minions would I have, would running be a misdemeanor or a felony, would the rivers be filled with bourbon, would my dog Charlie be named Duke or maybe even Czar? Where was I?

Oh, yeah. So really the article is about my rage against people perpetuating negative body images, whether it's Howard Stern, discriminatory employers, or that darn liberal media (okay, not the real liberal media - the liberal-entertainment-for-news media). It seemed timely what with some of us having already fallen off the Resolution bandwagon and maybe feeling a little bad about it. Don't feel bad or guilty. Do what you can to lead a healthy life and if other people don't like the way you look, then they are clearly supporters of jackassery who would be boring as hell to hang out with anyway.

I Wish I Was More of a Jackass

Dearest blog,

I'm mightily sorry for abandoning you. You were always there for me to ponder why fate had injected so many psychopaths into my dating life. When I wanted to record what I felt to be genius advice on how to throw and attend weddings, travel as a singelton, and have actual political conversations that didn't result in bloodshed, you were there. The reasons for my abandonment are both good and bad.

Because I've decided on a post-New Year's resolution to accentuate the positive, let's start with the good. I'm writing my brains out. Literally, I come home after a full day of work that leaves me wanting to weep in despair and I sit in my squishy rocking chair and write and write and write. I'm exhausted and have headaches and my eyes hurt. And I love it although it leaves me with less time to spend with you, dear blog.

Obviously, I'm not referring to loving my various aches and pains (or the increasing size of my ass as I have yet to figure out how to write whilst lunging). No, I'm referring to the insane amount of writing I've taken on. I'm now allowed to rant twice a week for The Snap Download indefinitely. I'm not sure who all is reading it but it is way cool. I take forever to research my articles, probably way longer than I should. And I've realized that I was even way more of a granola, hippie, leftwing, pinko liberal than I ever thought I was. And I really really dig it.

Then there's the other freelance work I've been doing. I finally finished writing on the passions and proclivities of the presidents and am now working on an e-book for that same client, and possibly now a new assignment of short stories/articles. That work is actually a ton of fun. And I've finished ghost writing ridiculously concise travel articles attempting to smush in way too much info on Latin American cities, most of which I've never visited. Also no more architectural pieces for crappy clients who don't pay or provide feedback.

Now, for the bad reasons. I really should have been focusing on finishing my own book. I mean I am so close--or at least I hope I'm so close--to finishing that it's insane how I keep procrastinating finishing. I honestly do have a lot of other stuff that I am contractually obligated to finish (and enjoy doing, too) but I fear part of the reason I haven't dedicated to my book based off of you, dearest blog, is that I fear it is complete crap.

And this is why I think I need to be more of a jackass. Not like the movies or anything. I need to be more of a jackass in that I need some damn self-confidence. My first instinct is to think that what I do is crap, that no one reads it, and that the reason the few people I've given draft of my book to have largely gone radio silent is because it is sooooooo bad that they are afraid to tell me and crush all my girlish hopes and dreams.

If I was more of a jackass, I'd be so firmly convinced of my own awesomeness that I'd have none of these doubts. I think we all need that really. Well, except the actual jackasses of course. Most of my wildly talented and gifted friends have such low self-esteem in their own wonderfulness that it makes me want to hold a parade with floats designed to honor them. Seriously, why is it that we have the hardest time believing in our own good and self-worth? Why must there always be this much doubt? What could we accomplish if we weren't so afraid that we sucked?

Anyway, so these are my pitiful reasons for ignoring you, dearest blog, for newer and shinier writing assignments. I'll promise to be better or at least promise to try. To quote one of my newer musical crushes, The Milk Carton Kids, you feel like a long hot shower, like getting in your bed when the sheets are warm. Thanks for listening to me before all the others did.


S/N,
Adrienne