I really did. Like the titular character of Caren Lissner's Carrie Pilby, I spent a good part of the day doing things that I enjoy. And I think I'm going to try to do that more often.

Granted, the day didn't start off so great -- not that it was awful, but it was something of a chore for me to pull myself out of bed (even at 10:30 AM) to get ready for work at the comic book store. And while I do like the store, and working there isn't so bad, after a busy 5-day week I decided that I could use the entire weekend to rest and work on my various projects (Scary-Crayon, fiction writing, drawing, etc.) and that my Saturdays were worth more to me than $20 and a 15% discount on comic books (which I rarely buy anyway). So I gave my resignation notice, offering to work next week before calling it quits, but later I ran into the store owner and she said it would be pointless to have me work next week, so that's that. So if anyone reading this lives in the area and ever wants to hang with me on the weekend, I'm free to do so without calling it in and taking off. (more...)

So apparently, as of May 10, Flesh & Blood is closed to submissions until September. D'oh! Need to find somewhere else to send this story in the meantime -- I'm thinking Cemetery Dance could work. We'll see.

Speaking of writing, I was browsing my old directories and came across some old stories I wrote in school, one of which more/less signifies the beginning of a lesbian relationship between two teenage girls. (Nothing really happens, but there's subtle flirtation and at the end of the story the two girls ditch school together to go eat ice cream.) I was just thinking yesterday that maybe Ellen DeGeneres should've kept her mouth shut about the supposed sexual abuse from her father, given the various arguments that homosexuals are "created" through such traumatic childhood experiences as, surprise!, sexual abuse, and that this constitutes proof that same-sex attraction is unnatural and caused by icky things. But oddly enough, in this story, I wrote sexual abuse into the background of one of the girls. I don't know why I did that. Weird. (more...)

At some point during the three hours of sleep I got last night, I dreamed that I'd totally forgotten about that pet turtle I purchased exactly 20 days ago and, as a result, had forgotten to feed it. I envisioned myself hurrying to its terrarium, finding it dead, and resurrecting it with a single scrap of wet lettuce and a few magic words. But when I found it dead, placed that scrap of wet lettuce before its tiny mouth, and said the incantation from my imagination, nothing happened. The turtle was dead. But then I picked it up and thought it might make a good action figure of sorts, so I ran a google search for information about how to perform reptile taxidermy at home. Then I woke up. Or, rather, I came to my senses, since I found myself standing over the computer staring at list of search results for "self taxidermy reptile".

As I made my way to the bathroom, though, I kept thinking that something about the dream seemed very real to me. At length, I convinced myself that I hadn't purchased a small turtle, but something about that damned turtle looked too familiar. No, it wasn't a Ninja Turtle, though I did consider that possibility. Then, in the shower, it hit me.

It was fucking Squirtle.

Ugh, I am exhausted.

I was planning to write another Scary-Crayon piece tonight -- I've been digging the every other day update thing -- but I didn't get back to the house until after 7 PM because I take two buses to get back from work and THE FUCKING FIRST BUS NEVER SHOWED UP. After waiting two hours for it -- two fucking hours! -- someone was nice enough to give me a ride to the next station, but of course by then I'd missed the bus I usually take and the next one as well, and the third bus was very late, so I ended up waiting another 30 minutes at the station for it to come. (You NYC folks don't know how lucky you are to have reliable public transportation.) When I finally walked through the door around 7:20 PM I was exhausted. Then suddenly it was 10:00 PM.

I fucking hate my life.

In other news, today I got my first piece of comment spam! Pretty funny stuff, I've gotta say. "You have done a very nice job with your website, I enjoy reading the various posts and opinions of your other visitors. I do Home finance..." HOW RELEVANT! Thanks for the entertainment, Mr. Refinance.

Last night I fired off a couple more cover letters and resumes, as well as a submission to one magazine and a few article proposals to another. And tonight, I submitted a short story to Flesh & Blood magazine. Let's hope the 24th time's a charm!

By the way, for those who thought the first paragraph of yesterday's post vaguely familiar, I was more/less channeling Illyria's words in "Underneath" ("Angel" Season 5, Episode 17). Here's the relevant excerpt:

It's too small. It's too small. I can't breathe. I can't live with these walls. I can't breathe. There's no room for anything real. ... I should gut you where you stand. You challenged me. There's not enough space to open my jaws. My face is not my face. I don't know what it will say.

Ja!