I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never going to keep me down!
I'm not pissing the night away like the blokes who recorded that lovely tune, however. On the other hand, if I wasn't a recovering lush I might delve into Wineland tonight as a deserving reward for my crap day.
Yes, it was a crap day in Mavenville (which severed ties with Wineland many years ago as the purple feet in our shopping malls was really aggravating). One of those I'm-so-bored-I-could-cry-so-life-decided-to-give-me-something-to-really-cry-about -put-that-in-your-pity-pipe-and-smoke-it days.
Why do financial issues seem to crop up at the worst possible times? Oh, I know why: because if it wasn't a bad time, it wouldn't be a financial issue, now would it? Still, there's nothing quite like being a pregnant SAHM who just, just, just stopped working and was just, just, just about to submit her first proposal letter who gets bad financial news. Ok, it's not horrible, but it was enough. Enough that Geekster was not a happy camper and I was an anxiety-ridden bouncy ball of stress all afternoon. That whole pregnant/not working/feeling very vulnerable and at the mercy of everyone else type thing was what did me in.
Things aren't resolved, but they'll be ok. Life will go on. I will not complain about being bored for a very, very long time.
However, this gave me more time before writing the proposal letter to Reader's Digest. I did more research and decided I would contact Mothering Magazine with an idea first. It's one I can easily write and hopefully will get my foot in the 'published-authors-only' door. So I wrote my letter. I did. And I'm silently freaking out about it, too. It's both exciting and incredibly scary! What's really frightening is that someone like me might actually get paid to write. You may shudder at the thought now. Or perish at the thought, but not before leaving me a goodbye comment.
It also gave me time to avoid all phone calls. I do so apologize to my friends who tried to call today, but - and get ready for this, because it's a doozy - I didn't want to talk to anyone. I know, I know. It's shocking. The Maven did not want to bitch to people on the phone. I wanted to sit in my dark little well of despair for a while, ok? I can only be positive 99% of the time. When that 1% hits, I'm worse than Eyeore at a bachelor party. I'll be better tomorrow and I'll want the company. I promise to return the calls, whether you want me to or not.
Know what makes me feel better on days like today? Watching House. That guy is so bitchy all the time that he makes me look like Shirley Temple on Ecstacy.
My copy of O Magazine is waiting for me next to the bathtub. I think I might go soak my worries and pick on my only child who's awake - InUtero Boy, future kickboxing champion. I'll go poke him a few times and see how he likes it, the little bugger.
I'm not pissing the night away like the blokes who recorded that lovely tune, however. On the other hand, if I wasn't a recovering lush I might delve into Wineland tonight as a deserving reward for my crap day.
Yes, it was a crap day in Mavenville (which severed ties with Wineland many years ago as the purple feet in our shopping malls was really aggravating). One of those I'm-so-bored-I-could-cry-so-life-decided-to-give-me-something-to-really-cry-about -put-that-in-your-pity-pipe-and-smoke-it days.
Why do financial issues seem to crop up at the worst possible times? Oh, I know why: because if it wasn't a bad time, it wouldn't be a financial issue, now would it? Still, there's nothing quite like being a pregnant SAHM who just, just, just stopped working and was just, just, just about to submit her first proposal letter who gets bad financial news. Ok, it's not horrible, but it was enough. Enough that Geekster was not a happy camper and I was an anxiety-ridden bouncy ball of stress all afternoon. That whole pregnant/not working/feeling very vulnerable and at the mercy of everyone else type thing was what did me in.
Things aren't resolved, but they'll be ok. Life will go on. I will not complain about being bored for a very, very long time.
However, this gave me more time before writing the proposal letter to Reader's Digest. I did more research and decided I would contact Mothering Magazine with an idea first. It's one I can easily write and hopefully will get my foot in the 'published-authors-only' door. So I wrote my letter. I did. And I'm silently freaking out about it, too. It's both exciting and incredibly scary! What's really frightening is that someone like me might actually get paid to write. You may shudder at the thought now. Or perish at the thought, but not before leaving me a goodbye comment.
It also gave me time to avoid all phone calls. I do so apologize to my friends who tried to call today, but - and get ready for this, because it's a doozy - I didn't want to talk to anyone. I know, I know. It's shocking. The Maven did not want to bitch to people on the phone. I wanted to sit in my dark little well of despair for a while, ok? I can only be positive 99% of the time. When that 1% hits, I'm worse than Eyeore at a bachelor party. I'll be better tomorrow and I'll want the company. I promise to return the calls, whether you want me to or not.
Know what makes me feel better on days like today? Watching House. That guy is so bitchy all the time that he makes me look like Shirley Temple on Ecstacy.
My copy of O Magazine is waiting for me next to the bathtub. I think I might go soak my worries and pick on my only child who's awake - InUtero Boy, future kickboxing champion. I'll go poke him a few times and see how he likes it, the little bugger.