They're all gangin' up on you Mr. Harding

Cheswick. The poor guy. (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest) Charlie tried so hard to help and to be everyone's friend. Only to find out that his help wasn't needed or was more harm than good.

My anemic sister's eating all my food. On the plus side, I've found out she doesn't like Red Bull so I don't have to worry about future thefts of my caffeine source. I've seldom been home this week as I've been spending more time with Jim and those two little piggies have been helping themselves. Or maybe it's just that at the time that I bought those groceries it was my last dime. And it's just kind of depressing to spend your last dime on something and never get to enjoy it.(This applies to many things in life.)

MSN is the devil and has sold their soul in order to manufacture heroin in the form of puzzle games. Zuma, in particular. A friend of Jim's gave him a copy of this game and Jim's been helplessly hooked for quite some time now. Worse than bubble wrap. I must say though, Jim's determination is quite admirable. As he said: "I'm gonna beat this game if it kills me."

I look forward to spring... I want to say that it's right around the corner, but the last time I got myself believing that hooey it snowed the very next day. So I'm not gonna get my hopes up. We'll just see how it goes.

My useless skill? French!

Yes. Read on:

You are 'French'. In the nineteenth century, it was the international language of diplomacy. It is a 'beautiful' language, meaning that it is really just a low-fidelity copy of Latin. You know the importance of communicating 'diplomatically', which for you means both being polite and friendly when necessary and using sophisticated, vicious sarcasm when appropriate. Your life is guided by either existentialism or nihilism, depending on the weather. You have a certain appreciation for the finer things in life, which is a diplomatic way of saying that you are a disgusting hedonist. Your problem is that French has been obsolete for a long time.

They say writing is a lonely occupation.

I've read a number of caviats telling "would-be writers" that it is a lonely, anti-social job. That before choosing to be a writer one should be prepared to discipline themselves and do the solitary bit. However, I find myself pining for solitude. My computer is currently located in the basement with my roomates' computers. I should only need mention my sister's additiction to online computer games to complete this picture. Solitude is not acheivable in this scenario. Therefore, I'm wondering about relocating.
I don't want to seem mean or anti-social. Or maybe I'm being eccentric and 'tempermental' like an artist that feels he must have mis-matched socks on before he can paint a pile of fruit.

I've definately reached a sink-or-swim point:
Either get this writing to bring in some money, or get a regular joe schmo day job.(ie: switching to days over at Swiss instead of weekends)

So before life gives me a shove off the pier and I find out I can't swim...

WRITE! WRITE! WRITE! WRITE!

Ate a whole baby!

I have been told to take a bubble bath, regardless of whether or not my brother or sister are here. I worry too much. Bubble baths are great dealing with stress, but don't really work if I worry myself out of having one. Besides, I've EARNED it. One month smoke-free. Jim literally applauded me.

I also need to keep myself focused on my writing. I got a good pep-talk Thursday. Really, 2 rejection letters for a novel isn't much. There are far more than 2 publishing houses out there. And the only short story rejections I received were to tell me their magazine was full & not accepting submissions at the time.(It was pointed out to me that because of my fear of sending in the story I missed my window of opportunity there) Yes. Yes.

Gotta worry less and write more. Have a little more confidence in myself. Yes. Yes.