Today I went out for lunch with some co workers. The main excitement for me was getting my fortune cookie at the end. I opened mine, fearful. My last one didn't go so well. "Eat more vegetables" it said. This, right on the spur of my confrontation with Cucumber Breath. I was already feeling somewhat vegetable sensitive, so this didn't sit well with me, especially on top of my deep fried chicken balls I'd just consumed for lunch. But today I got good news, at least fortune cookie wise. Double good news. Two fortune cookies: the first one- "you will soon have financial resources available to you", which I took to mean: lucrative book deal on the horizon. The second one: "You will travel to exotic places in the next three years", which I took to mean: lucrative book deal.
So that definately lightened my mood, which I needed after I had a rather difficult encounter last night with chocolate. There's something wrong with me, and I mean SERIOUSLY wrong. I'm not one to normally use the word 'difficult' and 'chocolate' in the same sentence, except to say "I found it only mildly difficult to consume the whole pound of chocolate'. But last night I was feeling stressed so I thought I would eat a piece of Lindt choclate, my very, very favorite. But when I put it in my mouth, I started wretching and gagging and had to spit it in the garbage and down a glass of water afterwards to get the taste out of my mouth. Water!! Usually I down chocolate with a glass of wine, or Pepsi at the very least. So this left me feeling very nervous. If I can't eat chocolate anymore, I'm not so sure my life is worth living.
First I lose interest in sex, then chocolate. Is this what happens to people??
Anyways. I don't know what that was. That's what I get for going on a healthy kick. Now my body is rejecting non healthy stuff!!
Onto more pressing matters. The coffee situation at work. Today I formed a coffee alliance with a coworker, the weak coffee coalition. Together, we make weak coffee and complain about the strong coffee, make little choking sensations when we are reduced to drinking the strong coffee. So that has been going well.
And lastly, Randines Vegas fund: a little meager at $25, but hey- it's a starting point. Geoff said"Oh, well, that should get you to the airport." So apparently I need to save more money. I have an idea-- I'm selling Paytons Dora Bed on Kijiji-- I mean, really-- she could sleep on the floor?? It's a deep enough pile carpet, it's basically like a bed. And I have found this Kijiji business quite lucrative. That's how I got my first 25 dollars in cold hard cash. All I had to do was sell something that I don't ever use anymore anyways. So now I am looking around the house looking for things to sell. I'm like "Geoff, how often do you use your golf clubs?" Anyways, according to my fortune cookie, the whole issue could be solved soon anyways. I was also thinking that we should start a charity to help me out... although we would have to give it a more charity sounding name like "Project Hope For Randine". Anyways, the end result would be the same. For the price of a mere cup of coffee every day, you could help a lowly nurse see the bright lights of Vegas.
I guess that is it for today. Have a good day.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Totally random and unrelated things.
I have an over active imagination.
The other day, my husband phoned me out of the blue and was like "I'd really like to see you, lets do lunch," which was nice of him, if a little out of character. So on the way there, I began to get the sense that there was definately something hinky going on ("hinky"- I got that word from watching Cold Case, don't you just love it?). I thought, I bet I know what happened. He was at home this morning when the call came through from the agent. He knows something and wanted to tell me in person. So I was all excited to see him.
And then it turns out that he just wanted to see me.
End of story.
Anyways, sometimes I could curse this over active imagination of mine. It's what got me into this mess in the first place.
But it's a good mess.
A random observation from my visit with my husbands place of employment- a private golf course- mine was the only GMC Safari in the parking lot. So good news- I didn't have to search the parking lot too long or hard when I left. My van stuck out like a sore thumb among all the late model BMWs and sleek SUVs.
Of course, they don't ge the gas mileage that I do.
Okay, they probably do. But they probably don't have AM/FM radio AND a cassette deck.
So the dogs stomach problems seem to be settled down, at least temporarily. She's always had a bit of a weak stomach, that one. And I know that you're probably thinking that with all the puking she's been doing I should take her to the vet. But I did that once and it cost me a thousand some dollars in exploratory surgery, with which they were finally able to puzzle out a very precise scientific diagnosis "there was negative mojo in there and we let it loose."
I am not kidding. That's what they said. An MRI, exploratory surgery, XRays and a blood panel. And that's what they came up with. Mojo. Like, if I wanted to take her to some witch doctor/wicka/herbalist/whatever, I'm pretty sure I would have and it would have probably cost me a lot less.
So this time she'll just have to live with the negative mojo. Mamas going to Vegas so we can't afford vet bills right now.
Enough of that.
Geoff and I had the popcorn fight again last night. Every time I make popcorn I use the popcorn button on the microwave-- that's what it's there for, right? But according to Mr. Popcorn Expert, the popcorn button doesn't work and you need to set it for 2 minutes and 22 seconds precicely for the best result. I mean, okay, maybe, MAYBE, you might get like ten to twenty more kernels popped. But what's a few kernels?? I dump almost the entire bowl down the garbage the next day, anyways?? We have kernels to spare as it is. Apparently, that's not the point, he says. So what the hell is the point, then?? I mean we're talking about pressing one button as opposed to three! Do the math, it's way less time consuming. So finally we just agreed to disagree. I said "Look- I don't tell you how to make your popcorn, so don't try to tell me how to make mine."
I don't know. I guess we should sit down some time and have a frank discussion some time. Perhaps there are compromises we could make.
But I need to be going.
Have a nice day.
The other day, my husband phoned me out of the blue and was like "I'd really like to see you, lets do lunch," which was nice of him, if a little out of character. So on the way there, I began to get the sense that there was definately something hinky going on ("hinky"- I got that word from watching Cold Case, don't you just love it?). I thought, I bet I know what happened. He was at home this morning when the call came through from the agent. He knows something and wanted to tell me in person. So I was all excited to see him.
And then it turns out that he just wanted to see me.
End of story.
Anyways, sometimes I could curse this over active imagination of mine. It's what got me into this mess in the first place.
But it's a good mess.
A random observation from my visit with my husbands place of employment- a private golf course- mine was the only GMC Safari in the parking lot. So good news- I didn't have to search the parking lot too long or hard when I left. My van stuck out like a sore thumb among all the late model BMWs and sleek SUVs.
Of course, they don't ge the gas mileage that I do.
Okay, they probably do. But they probably don't have AM/FM radio AND a cassette deck.
So the dogs stomach problems seem to be settled down, at least temporarily. She's always had a bit of a weak stomach, that one. And I know that you're probably thinking that with all the puking she's been doing I should take her to the vet. But I did that once and it cost me a thousand some dollars in exploratory surgery, with which they were finally able to puzzle out a very precise scientific diagnosis "there was negative mojo in there and we let it loose."
I am not kidding. That's what they said. An MRI, exploratory surgery, XRays and a blood panel. And that's what they came up with. Mojo. Like, if I wanted to take her to some witch doctor/wicka/herbalist/whatever, I'm pretty sure I would have and it would have probably cost me a lot less.
So this time she'll just have to live with the negative mojo. Mamas going to Vegas so we can't afford vet bills right now.
Enough of that.
Geoff and I had the popcorn fight again last night. Every time I make popcorn I use the popcorn button on the microwave-- that's what it's there for, right? But according to Mr. Popcorn Expert, the popcorn button doesn't work and you need to set it for 2 minutes and 22 seconds precicely for the best result. I mean, okay, maybe, MAYBE, you might get like ten to twenty more kernels popped. But what's a few kernels?? I dump almost the entire bowl down the garbage the next day, anyways?? We have kernels to spare as it is. Apparently, that's not the point, he says. So what the hell is the point, then?? I mean we're talking about pressing one button as opposed to three! Do the math, it's way less time consuming. So finally we just agreed to disagree. I said "Look- I don't tell you how to make your popcorn, so don't try to tell me how to make mine."
I don't know. I guess we should sit down some time and have a frank discussion some time. Perhaps there are compromises we could make.
But I need to be going.
Have a nice day.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Home Sweet Home
On Friday evening I was glad to return home from a busy work week and spend some QT with my kids. Of course, that was before I went into my bedroom and stepped on a bone that my dog had hacked up at some point during the day. Grudgingly, I cleaned up the mess off the floor. But I hadn't seen the last of the rib bones. At bedtime I snuggled in with my daughter Payton by my side. It was her birthday and I was recounting to her how five years ago we were in the hospital and she was a pink faced swaddled bundle laying beside me. She, unlike Gage-11, actually enjoys this story. We were having a nice mother daughter moment.
And the dog started up.
"What is that terrible smell?" Payton asked, looking like she was going to cry.
I wasn't sure, but as I looked over at the dog, I began to get an idea. She was heaving and wretching and making various noises. The end result was a pile of bile on the pillow beside us. So I got to work stripping the bed. Then I looked at Payton, who was turning green and crying "I don't feel good" So she runs for the bathroom, doesn't quite make it, vomits all over the place. Then she started laughing saying "I puked because the dog puked!". Standing there amidst soiled linen, a still wretching dog, a puke sodden newly 5 year old, all I could do was laugh.
Home Sweet Home.
It took some scrubbing and laundering, but finally we were resettled into bed. And so began my weekend.
Anyways, I am back at work this morning and that is not such a bad thing.
I woke with a start this morning thinking "Today's the Day!" noting the sunshine, a nice contrast from the steady dreariness of the weekend. Today I feel optimistic that I will hear something- be it good news or bad- although, obviously I would prefer good.
My manuscript is still in the hands of Agenty Ms Agent Pants, and I am feeling still a little nervous but somewhat less so. Every time I get a call at work I get all excited, because that's how I picture it happening-- at work when I least expect it-- although it seems to me that I'm always sort of expecting it, I just can't put it out of my mind-- but then it turns out that it's a Diabetes Rep asking me if I have enough lances. I mean diabetes testing supplies arent' very exciting at the best of times. Maybe it's just me. I dont' know.
Anyways, as I was saying before about not being able to put things out of my mind, I sometimes wonder if I'm borderline obsessive. Like some people that win the lotto say "Oh, and I had completely forgot that I bought that ticket!" But that NEVER happens to me. As soon as I buy a lotto ticket I begin to pick up this vibe, like that this ticket is really lucky. And then I go home and put it on my fridge, trying to decide what I will do with the jackpot. Will I quit my job? Or just go part time? Where I travel?? And to where?? How much many will I give my family members??
The planning gets more and complex the draw date nears. By the time they call the numbers I have everything worked out. And then I lose. So then I think "I'm never buying another lotto ticket again."
And then some days or weeks or months later, I start to get that vibe again, like THIS could be my lucky day. I was reading at my doctors office that that could be a sign of ADD. Impulse buying like lotto tickets. So I could well be ADD as well as obsessive.
I have a lot of issues.
Anyways.
I guess I'd better just be going. I am going to meet my husband for lunch. We got into a bit of a spat this morning and so he's treating me to a Quesidilla dinner, which I am looking forward to.
Will write when I know anything.
And the dog started up.
"What is that terrible smell?" Payton asked, looking like she was going to cry.
I wasn't sure, but as I looked over at the dog, I began to get an idea. She was heaving and wretching and making various noises. The end result was a pile of bile on the pillow beside us. So I got to work stripping the bed. Then I looked at Payton, who was turning green and crying "I don't feel good" So she runs for the bathroom, doesn't quite make it, vomits all over the place. Then she started laughing saying "I puked because the dog puked!". Standing there amidst soiled linen, a still wretching dog, a puke sodden newly 5 year old, all I could do was laugh.
Home Sweet Home.
It took some scrubbing and laundering, but finally we were resettled into bed. And so began my weekend.
Anyways, I am back at work this morning and that is not such a bad thing.
I woke with a start this morning thinking "Today's the Day!" noting the sunshine, a nice contrast from the steady dreariness of the weekend. Today I feel optimistic that I will hear something- be it good news or bad- although, obviously I would prefer good.
My manuscript is still in the hands of Agenty Ms Agent Pants, and I am feeling still a little nervous but somewhat less so. Every time I get a call at work I get all excited, because that's how I picture it happening-- at work when I least expect it-- although it seems to me that I'm always sort of expecting it, I just can't put it out of my mind-- but then it turns out that it's a Diabetes Rep asking me if I have enough lances. I mean diabetes testing supplies arent' very exciting at the best of times. Maybe it's just me. I dont' know.
Anyways, as I was saying before about not being able to put things out of my mind, I sometimes wonder if I'm borderline obsessive. Like some people that win the lotto say "Oh, and I had completely forgot that I bought that ticket!" But that NEVER happens to me. As soon as I buy a lotto ticket I begin to pick up this vibe, like that this ticket is really lucky. And then I go home and put it on my fridge, trying to decide what I will do with the jackpot. Will I quit my job? Or just go part time? Where I travel?? And to where?? How much many will I give my family members??
The planning gets more and complex the draw date nears. By the time they call the numbers I have everything worked out. And then I lose. So then I think "I'm never buying another lotto ticket again."
And then some days or weeks or months later, I start to get that vibe again, like THIS could be my lucky day. I was reading at my doctors office that that could be a sign of ADD. Impulse buying like lotto tickets. So I could well be ADD as well as obsessive.
I have a lot of issues.
Anyways.
I guess I'd better just be going. I am going to meet my husband for lunch. We got into a bit of a spat this morning and so he's treating me to a Quesidilla dinner, which I am looking forward to.
Will write when I know anything.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Climb
Well. My manuscript has been successfully delivered. Its always such an anxious feeling for me whenever anyone reads my stuff-- well except for this blog, of course, because no one reads it anyways. But I mean, my real stuff-- there's a part of me that wants to share it but a part of me that recoils at the thought of being evaulated. So even when my own mother read it I nervously awaited her response. You can only imagine how it feels knowing that someone in the biz. is reading it, or will be shortly. The upside is that since this all began I've lost about four pounds, which is great, I haven't lost weight like this since the mouth infection.
On the way to work this morning I heard Miley Cyrus's 'The Climb' and it so summed up everything that I was feeling. "This dream I'm dreaming... yada, yada... there's a voice inside my head saying 'you'll never make it', but I gotta be strong, gotta keep my head held high" And "it's always gonna be an uphill battle, sometimes I'm gonna have to lose" Anyways. I know Miley and me are different, but certainly I found her words inspiring and relatable, which is weird, considering the source.
Enought about that, though.
Onto other news. I had an eye exam this morning. Forty five minutes of eye charts and lasers in my eyes and puffs of air in my eyes to tell me that I have 20/20 vision, although I still can get glasses if I want to. For a while there, the optometrist was scrutinizing my eyes so intently with a micropcope, all the while asking if I had a family history of blindness, asking me when was the last time I had seen my family doctor, that I thought 'Oh Dear God. This can't be right. There's something wrong with me eyes.' And though I wasn't sure exactly what they worst case scenario was (cancer?? blindness?? MS?? glaucoma??), I was pretty sure that I had it. But thankfully everything is OK. At least for the time being. He did say that he wanted to see me back in two years to recheck everything, so I don't know if thats a good sign or not.
Probably not.
Last night we watched a movie, Obsessed and it was pretty OK. But I have to say, I totally dont' get why actors get paid so much. Like I hear them talking on TV about how hard they work and how burned out they are, and it's like OK, really?? How about you start paying me several hundred thousand dollars to sit in a makeup chair for four hours getting my hair and makeup done, and then go and recite a few lines, then call it a wrap and go clubbing for the rest of the night?? You wanna know hard work. This is what my evening last night consisted of:
5:00 leave the clinic and go pick up the kids, drive through traffic in heavy rain
5:15 arrive at daycare to be informed that Alex has just had a BM ('you're off duty' I told my daycare provider)
5:22 Arrive home and change Alex's diaper
5:25 Start making supper with Alex clinging onto my leg.
5:40 Throw in a load of laundry while the meat is cooking.
5:50 Give Alex an impromty bath because he has taken his diaper off and peed on the floor.
5:55 Wash the kitchen floor
6:10 Give Payton an impromptu bath because she's jealous that Alex gets to have a bath
6:15 Stop the meat from burning, put the rice on, holding a disgruntled Alex on my hip and listening to Payton screaming from the bathtub that she wants out.
6:20 Get Payton out of the tub
6:30 Wash the bathroom floor as she somehow managed to dump nearly the entire contents of the bathwater onto the floor
6:40 Feed the kids their supper
6:50 Move the wash into the dryer
7:00 Clean up the kids after their supper, change them into thier PJs
7:15 Clean the kitchen
7:40 Clean the dog puke in the living room
7:45 Clean the dog puke in my bedroom
8:00 put the kids to bed.
8:10 Eat a leftover meatball and feed one to the dog.
8:15 Clean up the meatball that the dog just puked up.
8:20 Go in to settle Alex (again)
8:30 Sweep the living room floor
And that's AFTER I worked for eight hours.
And you know what I have to look forward to?? Dental extractions. I'll be getting my wisdom teeth pulled in October, and I'm actually looking forward to staying in bed all day, strung out on pain killers.
Anyways, that's enough for one day.
Thanks for reading.
On the way to work this morning I heard Miley Cyrus's 'The Climb' and it so summed up everything that I was feeling. "This dream I'm dreaming... yada, yada... there's a voice inside my head saying 'you'll never make it', but I gotta be strong, gotta keep my head held high" And "it's always gonna be an uphill battle, sometimes I'm gonna have to lose" Anyways. I know Miley and me are different, but certainly I found her words inspiring and relatable, which is weird, considering the source.
Enought about that, though.
Onto other news. I had an eye exam this morning. Forty five minutes of eye charts and lasers in my eyes and puffs of air in my eyes to tell me that I have 20/20 vision, although I still can get glasses if I want to. For a while there, the optometrist was scrutinizing my eyes so intently with a micropcope, all the while asking if I had a family history of blindness, asking me when was the last time I had seen my family doctor, that I thought 'Oh Dear God. This can't be right. There's something wrong with me eyes.' And though I wasn't sure exactly what they worst case scenario was (cancer?? blindness?? MS?? glaucoma??), I was pretty sure that I had it. But thankfully everything is OK. At least for the time being. He did say that he wanted to see me back in two years to recheck everything, so I don't know if thats a good sign or not.
Probably not.
Last night we watched a movie, Obsessed and it was pretty OK. But I have to say, I totally dont' get why actors get paid so much. Like I hear them talking on TV about how hard they work and how burned out they are, and it's like OK, really?? How about you start paying me several hundred thousand dollars to sit in a makeup chair for four hours getting my hair and makeup done, and then go and recite a few lines, then call it a wrap and go clubbing for the rest of the night?? You wanna know hard work. This is what my evening last night consisted of:
5:00 leave the clinic and go pick up the kids, drive through traffic in heavy rain
5:15 arrive at daycare to be informed that Alex has just had a BM ('you're off duty' I told my daycare provider)
5:22 Arrive home and change Alex's diaper
5:25 Start making supper with Alex clinging onto my leg.
5:40 Throw in a load of laundry while the meat is cooking.
5:50 Give Alex an impromty bath because he has taken his diaper off and peed on the floor.
5:55 Wash the kitchen floor
6:10 Give Payton an impromptu bath because she's jealous that Alex gets to have a bath
6:15 Stop the meat from burning, put the rice on, holding a disgruntled Alex on my hip and listening to Payton screaming from the bathtub that she wants out.
6:20 Get Payton out of the tub
6:30 Wash the bathroom floor as she somehow managed to dump nearly the entire contents of the bathwater onto the floor
6:40 Feed the kids their supper
6:50 Move the wash into the dryer
7:00 Clean up the kids after their supper, change them into thier PJs
7:15 Clean the kitchen
7:40 Clean the dog puke in the living room
7:45 Clean the dog puke in my bedroom
8:00 put the kids to bed.
8:10 Eat a leftover meatball and feed one to the dog.
8:15 Clean up the meatball that the dog just puked up.
8:20 Go in to settle Alex (again)
8:30 Sweep the living room floor
And that's AFTER I worked for eight hours.
And you know what I have to look forward to?? Dental extractions. I'll be getting my wisdom teeth pulled in October, and I'm actually looking forward to staying in bed all day, strung out on pain killers.
Anyways, that's enough for one day.
Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
I'm not cut out for this.
Today, my baby (weighing in at 1.66 kg, by the way-- the things you can find out on Canada Post.ca) arrived in Missisauga, ON. I am like totally freaking out right now. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. I keep thinking "I should have changed that part or this or that, I should have edited this or that or took that chapter out or made it longer or shorter or less wordy, etc. And then on top of that I'm thinking 'am I SURE that the pages are collated properly? That the the chapters are sequential? That the page breaks are where they should be? That I double checked all the spelling?? It's like when I was in University, after I turned in my exams I would just ruminate about it all the time, thinking 'oh I messed this up or that'. But then I would get my exam back and get like a ninety one on it. So hopefully this will be similar. I'm always my own worst critic.
Anyways, I think I'll just keep my day job where I'm a lot less vulnerable. Nurses are very much in demand, so I feel quite confident. But writing its totally different. Everyone thinks they can write the Great American Novel, where as the reality is that only a very exclusive few can. And what makes me think that I can be a part of that group??
A hope? A dream?
A delusion.
But I'll just think positive thoughts, like they say in The Secret. I've never actually read the book, but I got the jist of it second hand vis-a-vis a Saturday Night Live sketch. I can. I will. I might. But then again I might not. Probably not. Argh. I'll have to start over.
Anyways. Nothing else really new with me. Cucumber Breath is back from her holidays. I anticipated a somewhat strained convo with her, but guess what?? Now we're friends!! Can you believe that she has a cat named Zoey as well!! What are the chances of that?? They have to be like a million to one. And not only that, but her Zoey had a litter of kittens as well!! So we talked cat talk, you know whether they ate thier placentas and that, and I think we really bonded. See, that's all you have to do is just find something that you have in common. That's what all those people in the Middle East should do. Do they still have conflict there? I think so.
So now that Cucumber Breath and I are friends again, I have a new sworn enemy, Courier Cow. But I can't write too much on here about her, as I fear being sued for libel. I have no idea at all whatsoever what libel is, but I don't like the sounds of it and I want to avoid it. Anyways. Just trust me, she's a cow. And not like weight wise (although ya, that too, well OK, not really, her body's actually not too bad) but more like just a miserable-sod-of-a-person way. Workplace politics are so complex. Makes me yearn for the days of Barney and Hungry Hipppo. And that, my friends, is a sad state of affairs indeed.
And one last thing before I sign off-- I must correct an error from yesterdays post. 'CPU' should actually be 'UPC' (Universal Price Code). I think, quite obviously, I could be dyslexic now on top of everything else. Or I wonder if thats just part and parcel of the acoustic brain tumor. The pamphlet from the Brain Tumor Network didn't list dyslexia as a symptom, but then again they only listed like four symptoms and there has to be more than that. And also, I noticed that sometimes when I sneeze I get kind of a tingly feeling at the base of my neck. So this has me quite concerned, naturally. I think I'd best just be going.
Today, my baby (weighing in at 1.66 kg, by the way-- the things you can find out on Canada Post.ca) arrived in Missisauga, ON. I am like totally freaking out right now. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. I keep thinking "I should have changed that part or this or that, I should have edited this or that or took that chapter out or made it longer or shorter or less wordy, etc. And then on top of that I'm thinking 'am I SURE that the pages are collated properly? That the the chapters are sequential? That the page breaks are where they should be? That I double checked all the spelling?? It's like when I was in University, after I turned in my exams I would just ruminate about it all the time, thinking 'oh I messed this up or that'. But then I would get my exam back and get like a ninety one on it. So hopefully this will be similar. I'm always my own worst critic.
Anyways, I think I'll just keep my day job where I'm a lot less vulnerable. Nurses are very much in demand, so I feel quite confident. But writing its totally different. Everyone thinks they can write the Great American Novel, where as the reality is that only a very exclusive few can. And what makes me think that I can be a part of that group??
A hope? A dream?
A delusion.
But I'll just think positive thoughts, like they say in The Secret. I've never actually read the book, but I got the jist of it second hand vis-a-vis a Saturday Night Live sketch. I can. I will. I might. But then again I might not. Probably not. Argh. I'll have to start over.
Anyways. Nothing else really new with me. Cucumber Breath is back from her holidays. I anticipated a somewhat strained convo with her, but guess what?? Now we're friends!! Can you believe that she has a cat named Zoey as well!! What are the chances of that?? They have to be like a million to one. And not only that, but her Zoey had a litter of kittens as well!! So we talked cat talk, you know whether they ate thier placentas and that, and I think we really bonded. See, that's all you have to do is just find something that you have in common. That's what all those people in the Middle East should do. Do they still have conflict there? I think so.
So now that Cucumber Breath and I are friends again, I have a new sworn enemy, Courier Cow. But I can't write too much on here about her, as I fear being sued for libel. I have no idea at all whatsoever what libel is, but I don't like the sounds of it and I want to avoid it. Anyways. Just trust me, she's a cow. And not like weight wise (although ya, that too, well OK, not really, her body's actually not too bad) but more like just a miserable-sod-of-a-person way. Workplace politics are so complex. Makes me yearn for the days of Barney and Hungry Hipppo. And that, my friends, is a sad state of affairs indeed.
And one last thing before I sign off-- I must correct an error from yesterdays post. 'CPU' should actually be 'UPC' (Universal Price Code). I think, quite obviously, I could be dyslexic now on top of everything else. Or I wonder if thats just part and parcel of the acoustic brain tumor. The pamphlet from the Brain Tumor Network didn't list dyslexia as a symptom, but then again they only listed like four symptoms and there has to be more than that. And also, I noticed that sometimes when I sneeze I get kind of a tingly feeling at the base of my neck. So this has me quite concerned, naturally. I think I'd best just be going.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Congragulations, It's A.... Manuscript!
What do I have to lose?
That way my thought when an agent requested my manuscript. I mean chances are slim to none that it will go any further from here, but it doesn't hurt to send it off anyways.
So naive I was. Tell that to me today when I've spent the last 48 hours scrolling through a 350 page manuscript to make sure that the formatting was correct and that there were no glaring spelling or grammatical errors. I beleive I got a form of motion sickness from it. I've slept poorly. I've ate poorly.
And then finally I got to the point where I could print it off, which you would think would be a simple matter of hitting print and being done, but no. Due to printer problems at home (I swear, nothing in my house works properly), I found myself yesterday at Wal Mart buying a new printer. And then I had to spend an hour to get it set up and installed. And then I had to buy the kids McDonalds for supper because I was too busy to cook. But finally, I was ready to go. But then at about page 200 I ran out of paper. So I was back at Wal Mart. Of course, I manage to somehow pick the one and only ream of paper out of the thousands they stock that doesn't have a CPU on it, how I managed that I have no idea, but it happens every time. And yet I haven't won a single free ticket on the lotto. Honestly. If it wasn't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all. So the price checking professional comes along, and I use the word professional loosely. He was an overweight adolescent with a blue Mokawk. I just tell by the way he ambled slowly over like he hadn't a care in the world that I was going to be waiting around for a while. And I was. After about ten minutes I finally went to go get another ream of paper, what happened to Blue Mohawk I can only speculate. Perhaps he saw some hair products on sale or something. I don't know. But finally, at nine pm and already bone tired, I left Wal Mart with my paper. I got back to my printing. And then at page 300 I ran out of ink. So back to Wal Mart it was. Finally I finished at about midnight. I crawled into bed and felt myself falling almost instantly to sleep. And then Alex woke up.
Oh God. I'm boring you. I guess this isn't that interesting to the average person. But the point is- I'm stupid. Like, OK, so your going to print a manuscript. Step one- make sure you enough paper and ink. Actually, make sure you have a printer. I would have printed it off and had it ready to go in the event of an agent asking for it, but I held to this stupid superstition that the only way anyone would ever want to see it was if I left it alone. Murphys law. Anyways, it is done and my manuscript is on its way to sunny Toronto. Does it get sunny there, I don't know.
Anyways, the whole process has been sort of like childbirth. This final push to spew forth this extension of me. Exhausting, exhilerating, but with an end product that was worth all the blood, sweat and tears. Actually, it's even better than childbirth. Childbirth, in the past, has left me with a case of raging hormones, leaky breasts and a seriously lacerated vajayjay. My vajayjay is gloriously intact right now, I am pleased to say. And even better, after I was finished printing everything off, I slept for seven uninterruped hours. I doubt if I had seven hours over a perios of three days after Alex was born.
So. Now I wait. I don't feel too positive about it right now. Last night when I was trying to polish my manuscript I got the distinct impression that I'm in over my head right now. Like, seriously, I'm just a small town girl with a book that objectively, may or may not be that funny.
At any rate, I am glad to have it out of my hands for the time being. And if nothing else, it has given me a little nudge that writing isn't completely futile. After a long, hard, year of rejection letters, I was beginning to think "what's the point". I spend all my spare time in the basement writing, and for what? To have a manilla envelope full of rejection letters? To have a blog that no one reads? Except for you mom and Lorrie. I know you're out there.
Anyways, I gotta go now. Work.
Will write later.
That way my thought when an agent requested my manuscript. I mean chances are slim to none that it will go any further from here, but it doesn't hurt to send it off anyways.
So naive I was. Tell that to me today when I've spent the last 48 hours scrolling through a 350 page manuscript to make sure that the formatting was correct and that there were no glaring spelling or grammatical errors. I beleive I got a form of motion sickness from it. I've slept poorly. I've ate poorly.
And then finally I got to the point where I could print it off, which you would think would be a simple matter of hitting print and being done, but no. Due to printer problems at home (I swear, nothing in my house works properly), I found myself yesterday at Wal Mart buying a new printer. And then I had to spend an hour to get it set up and installed. And then I had to buy the kids McDonalds for supper because I was too busy to cook. But finally, I was ready to go. But then at about page 200 I ran out of paper. So I was back at Wal Mart. Of course, I manage to somehow pick the one and only ream of paper out of the thousands they stock that doesn't have a CPU on it, how I managed that I have no idea, but it happens every time. And yet I haven't won a single free ticket on the lotto. Honestly. If it wasn't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all. So the price checking professional comes along, and I use the word professional loosely. He was an overweight adolescent with a blue Mokawk. I just tell by the way he ambled slowly over like he hadn't a care in the world that I was going to be waiting around for a while. And I was. After about ten minutes I finally went to go get another ream of paper, what happened to Blue Mohawk I can only speculate. Perhaps he saw some hair products on sale or something. I don't know. But finally, at nine pm and already bone tired, I left Wal Mart with my paper. I got back to my printing. And then at page 300 I ran out of ink. So back to Wal Mart it was. Finally I finished at about midnight. I crawled into bed and felt myself falling almost instantly to sleep. And then Alex woke up.
Oh God. I'm boring you. I guess this isn't that interesting to the average person. But the point is- I'm stupid. Like, OK, so your going to print a manuscript. Step one- make sure you enough paper and ink. Actually, make sure you have a printer. I would have printed it off and had it ready to go in the event of an agent asking for it, but I held to this stupid superstition that the only way anyone would ever want to see it was if I left it alone. Murphys law. Anyways, it is done and my manuscript is on its way to sunny Toronto. Does it get sunny there, I don't know.
Anyways, the whole process has been sort of like childbirth. This final push to spew forth this extension of me. Exhausting, exhilerating, but with an end product that was worth all the blood, sweat and tears. Actually, it's even better than childbirth. Childbirth, in the past, has left me with a case of raging hormones, leaky breasts and a seriously lacerated vajayjay. My vajayjay is gloriously intact right now, I am pleased to say. And even better, after I was finished printing everything off, I slept for seven uninterruped hours. I doubt if I had seven hours over a perios of three days after Alex was born.
So. Now I wait. I don't feel too positive about it right now. Last night when I was trying to polish my manuscript I got the distinct impression that I'm in over my head right now. Like, seriously, I'm just a small town girl with a book that objectively, may or may not be that funny.
At any rate, I am glad to have it out of my hands for the time being. And if nothing else, it has given me a little nudge that writing isn't completely futile. After a long, hard, year of rejection letters, I was beginning to think "what's the point". I spend all my spare time in the basement writing, and for what? To have a manilla envelope full of rejection letters? To have a blog that no one reads? Except for you mom and Lorrie. I know you're out there.
Anyways, I gotta go now. Work.
Will write later.
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