Well, today I turn 30. Last time I turned 30 I was sad, distraught, suicidal, contemplating whether or not to turn my back on it all, buy a houseboat and live my life on the open sea, endlessly adrift in my middle ageness. But this time I'm happy to be turning thirty, because it is only weeks that I'm talking about and not years, so that makes a big difference. So now things are going well. I'm feeling pretty OK, I get a little tired sometimes, finding it hard to stay up past nine o'clock most days. But I don't mind getting the extra sleep now. Soon enough sleep will be a distant memory. I have an online baby pool, which some people have participated in (and some people have participated in twice, which, technically, is not really allowed, I might add, hint hint, mom.) I must say that I'm surprised that many people are guessing the weight quite low, like in the 7's. I have to say that I would be very surprised if the baby was anything less that 8ish, because statistics say that each baby gets bigger. Gage was 7-13, Payton was 8-4, so if the pattern continues (which it should, barring of course, that I take up a heroin addiction, which I probably won't on account of the fact that I'm scared of needles. I still haven't gotten that Tetanus shot I was supposed to get back in the fall of '07. If you need your memory refreshed, its all there in "So thats what letter openers are for") it could be close to nine pounds. My guess is 8-11. I think that seems about right.
Last night I did something which I thought I might never do, which is to go and see Tina Fey the idea stealing wench in her movie which was blatantly stolen from me and now she is capatilizing on it and I have now contributed to her further success by giving my seveny three dollars or whatever ridiculous price they are charging now for admission. But it had to be done in the name of market research/recon. It was actually a very good movie, two thumbs up. Actually four, because the baby was enjoying it as well, moving around a lot. But that could have just been the sixteen ounces of pop I drank. But in any case, it was good. And it was actually quite different than my book, so I feel better knowing that.
Other than that, not much new with me. The cat is still not speaking to me after I tried to establish communication with her last week. I'm pretty sure that she's angry with me, and I realize that the nuances of feline speech are perhaps more intricate than I thought. Meowing seems simple, but it's apparently a complex language. So I've aborted my mission for now. I will need to do some background research first, but unfortunately, this is slow going because there isn't a wealth of information available online about cat communication.
As for me and my writing, well, things haven't been going well. I've been sending out query letters to agents since November, but haven't really gained any ground. I've gotten only rejection letters so far, some replies are still pending, but it's hard to be really hopeful. It's discouraging, but there are still avenues to persue and I believe that persistence and patience will maybe some day pay off. If not, I continue to write and work at another book. I have decided that ultimately, I am a writer whether or not the greater publishing community thinks so or not. Maybe it is all a pipe dream, but I once heard the words from a very wise source "you can take a stand or just compromise, you can work real hard or just fantasize". OK. So it was KISS that sang that in "God gave rock and roll to you", but still. You can't argue thier success. You simply can't.