I Should Be Cleaning But…

I should be cleaning but I don’t feel like it. If it makes it better, there is a load of wash going. Granted, it’s towels, whites and colors. I’m not discriminatory when it comes to laundry, and hopefully I live my life like I do my laundry. It is just after midnight-thirty on the West Coast (where I am). And cleaning in the middle of the night before people return is totally normal for me. It’s not like I didn’t clean at all whilst alone (remember I spoke of doing dishes in my last blog); it’s just that the bulk of cleaning happens right before people return. Not because I’m lazy, but because people like to come back to cleanliness. But yeah, shitty TV marathons totally have a roll in why the bulk of cleaning happens right before.

To be fair I had every intention of  cleaning during the day, but I was tired and slept because I think I’m coming down with the black death once again. And no amount of essential oils and supplements I take can fight it. So, I’ve resigned myself to another bout of not being able to breath through my nose and eating Doritos for medicinal purposes. But that’s beside the point. The point is I need to tidy up from watching the baby nephew the other day, and my alarm just went off to remind me to take my meds. I do a lot of things in the middle of the night; don’t judge me.

Actually, things aren’t as trashed as they have been in times past. Back in the day when my parents would go on vacation leaving my brothers in charge, there would be people constantly in and out of the house. Then the night before they’d get back, my brothers would bribe me to do all the cleaning… or blackmail me to do it. Okay, okay, okay so midnight cleanings were a learnt behavior from my older brothers. Thanks guys. But like I said things aren’t as bad as they were then, and back in the day, Swiffers weren’t a thing. Still, I hate cleaning my I’m not feeling good.

In other news, I didn’t kill the plants and brought in the mail. And the new kitty’s such a dick, she’ll yell until I feed her. Thus, I couldn’t forget to feed the cat. I also talked with my best friend on the phone. (She lives in the midwest, so now the phone and letter are all we have.) Talking on the phone is synonymous with exercise. Granted, it was the only time I exercised, and making healthy food choices fell by the wayside. And I didn’t send out anymore query letters. BUT I did set up a job interview. So, I wasn’t completely unproductive in my time alone. (Damn Twilight Zone marathons.)

Perhaps as I procrastinate doing the physical cleaning activities left to do, I’ll finish sending out the query letters. I mean officially my time alone is not yet over. I have over twelve hours still… unless the damn plane is early. I hope it’s not early. Also, there’d be time to clean if I actually got up when my alarm goes off tomorrow. Because I’m starting to feel really tired again, which is super because I just put my bedding in the wash. The couch is plenty comfortable though. Enough rambling. Make wise choices and be safe dear readers of this blog. Also have a happy long weekend if you’re in America.

What More Do You Want From Me!?

Warning: The following contains a lot of talk about baby poop.

Last night I washed dishes, and today, this morning, as in actual morning, I changed a poopy diaper. If there’s one thing I hate more than doing dishes, it’s changing diapers. But I was the dumbass who agreed to watch the baby nephew without any proper adult supervision. And he thanked me by shitting himself. When do babies learn to use the toilet? Because it’s about damn time the new one used the toilet just like everyone else.

At least with the dishes, some of them were mine. Unlike the diaper where none of that was mine. Seriously, I woke up this morning just for the baby. Then he pooped as soon as his mother left… like he was holding it in until it was only me. It’s a clear sign the baby hates me, I’m pretty sure. Yeah, I know he smiles every time he sees me and cries if I leave the room, but I think he’s simply fronting in order to hide his true hateful nature.

That’s right, I’m taking the baby’s BM personally. Sure, he poops for everyone. BUT the glint in his eye when he pooped today, when it was just me, isn’t there for anyone else. I know it sounds crazy to say the baby, much like a cat, poops to punish me. After all, the baby is human as far as I can tell, but he is obsessed with the cat. It’s not too far of a stretch he’s been learning things from her since the day he was born.

Currently, the baby is talking to himself. He’s supposed to be sleeping. But again, I think he’s revealing his true feelings of hatred for me by his refusal of sleep. Because I have had to watch him today, my sleeping schedule has been thrown off. Thus, I would like to take a nap myself. However, I cannot sleep when the baby is talking. I’ve tried. Believe me I’ve tried. I’m too afraid he’ll choke on something, but I’m not quite sure what he could choke on. I just want him to fall asleep so I can fall asleep. But no he keeps on chatting like he’s talking to a ghost who lives in the room.

Great! I’ve now just creeped myself out sufficiently enough to where I won’t be able to sleep ever again. Okay, that’s complete hyperbole. I’ll probably have no trouble sleeping when I get tired enough… like now. I could so fall asleep if it weren’t for the talking baby. Is it wrong to tell the baby to shut the hell up and sleep so I can get a nap in before his mom picks him up? I kid. It was joke. Just joshing. Chances are I wouldn’t use the word hell. And if you know me, you probably could guess what word I would use. Just let me sleep baby. Please. What more could you possibly want from me?

Delusions of Grandeur

Every so often I get some time and space completely to myself, usually because of  house/pet sitting. In these times, I tend to get delusions of grandeur. My time alone will be filled with productivity and healthy choices. And opening the blinds during the day and closing them at night. You know like how real grown-ups do. Or at least not ones who don’t keep the hours of a traditional (as opposed to a sparkly) vampire as is my current schedule. However, what usually ends up happening when I’m alone is drinking and watching television, even if there’s nothing on.

This week is such a week, and per usual, I have plans to submit more queries and exercise. And maybe even get out during daylight hours to get some natural vitamin D. But the last part is very iffy, because I’m stuck wearing my glasses presently (rather than contacts), which means I can’t wear sunglasses, and my eyes are super sensitive to the sun. Thus the excuses begin of not fulfilling my goals for the week.

It starts with something legit such as my eyes can’t handle the glaring sun. Then it moves to something like I’m still not breathing well from my bout of the black death my parents gave me, so I probably shouldn’t get too crazy with the exercise. Quickly, my excuses devolve into procrastinating doing any queries because “just after this show” I’ll start on them. But when it’s a marathon of shitty television, it ends at midnight. And if I send a query letter at midnight, the publisher will see and think I’m insane. So, it’s best to try the following day, before I turn on the TV, except… I tend to fall asleep watching the television. And the vicious cycle starts the following day.

But this time is going to be different. This time I’m actually going to get shit done before my time alone comes to an end. Well, apart from the going outside today, because I have a headache from even having the blinds open. See I have made progress today! The blinds being open is a clear sign this time of being alone is going to be a departure from the norm. I am going to accomplish the entire list I wrote for the next few days. I mean taking a stroll is totally exercise, right! Right? Right. I wish I still had Richard Simmons videos. (Wow that was a confession I wasn’t quite expecting to make.)

Obviously, today’s blog is rapidly becoming out of control. It’s a clear sign I need to stop. And even blogging today means I get to cross an item off my list, in addition to opening the blinds today. Hell, if I take in the mail, that will be three items just like that! See, I know myself well enough to know, I know the incentive to cross something off in order to bring in the post. However, the big question is, will it be enough for me to remember to feed the kitty?

Because It’s Too Long for a Status Update/Tweet

When I was in eighth grade (having just turned 14), on the first day of my last semester in middle school, my Washington State History/Social Studies teacher was shot and killed as he entered the school building. His assailant alleged he had been sexually abused by the teacher since he was thirteen. At the time of the murder, he was 24. For some reason, recently I have been thinking about what happened.

At the time of the murder, I didn’t believe the accusations of the murderer. I couldn’t possibly see how someone who was in their mid-twenties was still being tortured by something that happened ten years prior. I wasn’t the only one who felt that way either. I remember a former student of his being interviewed on the news demanding to know if our teacher were a child molester where were his other victims. Fast forward twentyish years, and my mind is inclined to believe differently.

After being around sexual abuse victims, I know the signs. I know about grooming and the horrible scars left by such atrocities. Having studied sexual abusers, I also know that they don’t target everyone and can be deceptively charming to gain access to children. It makes me sick. And I’m a strong proponent of castrations of those who sexually abuse children. I don’t think they can be cured. Needless to say I have some pretty strong feelings about the subject.

All that being said, I believe my teacher did abuse the man who killed him. And I’m inclined to believe there are more victims out there who never came forward, because of the stigma attached. That’s is not to say, I think he should have been murdered or that the papers should call him an abuser rather than an alleged abuser. The media coverage eventually died down as it always does in such cases, and time went on.

The shooter was originally found unfit to stand trial, but then that was overturned. He was found guilty of first degree murder, but there was a mistrial declared due to bad legal representation. Eventually, he was found guilty of second degree murder and sentenced to nine years in prison but only served seven (I think). None of this was really publicized. I remember seeing his dad’s reaction to the first trial, with him declaring the teacher won again. Even now when I think about it, I want to know how he won when he’s burning in that special place in hell reserved for child molesters. I suppose most people looking at the situation know a little something something about abusers and victims and what have you. But there’s more to the story.

Lets all remember the shooter was found guilty of second degree murder. After he was released from prison, he sued the school district for not protecting him. He never told anyone about the abuse until after he shot and killed my teacher. No one else came forward either. No allegations were made against him in his lifetime. However, rather than letting the proceedings go to the courts, the school district settled with the CONVICTED MURDERER for a quarter of a million dollars. The entire story drives me insane.

I get that the killer was past the statute of limitations to press charges. I don’t think murder was the answer, but in someway, it is understandable. However, it was premeditated. He waited outside the school and shot him as he entered. Then he left the scene. I remember that day so clearly. My cousin who was a year older than me called me to let me know someone had been shot outside the school. I had my dad drop me off in the front rather than the back, which was where he normally dropped me off. (It wasn’t me being unreasonable. He drove a fucking Country Squire Station Wagon mustard yellow for fuck’s sake!) All the students were ushered into the auditorium as they entered the through the main doors; all others were blocked. I was sitting with someone when Alejandro walked by and told us he heard it was our teacher. They announced it after the bell rang. Then they sent us off to classes. And the person responsible for that horrible day got a settlement?!

I could go on for hours circularly thinking about this. But I would get nowhere. The story I read finding out about the settlement didn’t call my teacher an alleged abuser. It made me sick, because even though there is the educated, rational part of me knowing in all likelihood a teacher whom I enjoyed, sexually abused this person, there is the 14 year old emotionally unhinged (as all 14 year olds are) upset by the murder of a teacher… at school no less!

I have no idea why I started thinking about this whole thing. I have no idea why I googled the circumstances. I wonder if the killer went to his high school reunion and what he did with the money. I hate to think he got rewarded for murdering someone, even if said someone molested him. All right. I need to stop this before I start on another cycle.

The Life of a Rejection Letter

Does anyone actually read rejection letters? Does anyone read past the “sorry, but…”? I know I don’t. I may scan the letter looking for a reason for the rejection/tips on what not to do next time. But usually, I see the rejection and then bin it immediately (either virtually or physically). I can’t be the only one who does this. Seriously, I would like to meet a person who carefully reads a rejection letter. I’d put my money on said person having some sort of issues with self-esteem and/or liking to be punished. However, I could be wrong. Said reader of the rejection letter could just feel sorry for the letter knowing that no one ever gives it attention.

It’s not the rejection letter’s fault, it usually is the bearer of bad news. No more than it is a ginger’s fault for not having a soul. I joke. I joke. I’ve known several gingers all of whom I’m almost positive had souls just like everyone else. The rejection letter lives a solitary life not being truly seen by its intended audience. It usually doesn’t even  have a specific creation; it’s usually just a form letter with a name stuffed in. The rejection letter doesn’t know the beauty of flowery and/or creative terms. It doesn’t get the imagery that a query letter receives. Poor, poor rejection letters.

That’s not to say, I’m going to change my ways. I’m not about to start reading about not getting a job or not getting published… Not getting published. I got my first rejection letter from a publisher today. I’m not discouraged. It was the first query letter I wrote. (As I’m well aware, the query letter is not my strong suit in technical writing.) But it did get me thinking about the rejection letter in general. No one frames a rejection letter. That’s right I’ve seen acceptance letters framed. Hell, I’ve saved acceptance letters in my past. Right, moving on. Also, I have a feeling it won’t be my last rejection letter from a publishing company. Yet, I hope I’m wrong.

Today’s rejection letter didn’t even get opened from me today. I opened my email, and it was the only on in my inbox. I could read some of it without actually opening the email. It was enough for me to know what type of letter it was. “We’re going to pass…” So, I immediately deleted it. I doubt they’d have any feedback for me. I just sent them a query letter; not even a sample.

When I first decided to start down the getting published path, I knew the rejection letter would be part of this adventure. There are multiple stories all over the internet about people who were rejected by multiple publishing companies. My favorite being the one about Stephanie Meyer getting Twilight rejected by fourteen (or somewhere around there) publishing companies before the manuscript was accepted by the last. I sure as hell hope I’m a better writer than Stephanie Meyer. So, I still have hope of rejecting the rejection letters, you know before it can reject me.

Vanity and Other Worrying Concerns

I had the worst dream last night. I lost a tooth. Yes it was a molar, and no one could see it. BUT I woke up with the sinking feeling in the pit up my stomach. And then I realized I’m still not feeling 100% from being sick the week before. Also drinking Chinese “Diet” Tea always wonks up my stomach. Anyway, the dream about losing a tooth. Seriously, the first thing I did was check to make sure all my teeth were in place.

I’m not saying I’m vain, but I totally am. Especially about my teeth. Look. When you were blessed with next to perfect teeth, and it’s one of your main qualities, your teeth are something you protect. (Even if you don’t ever go to the dentist because those people are sadistic assholes. And I haven’t had dental insurance for a long time.) The point is, while I may not live in fear about losing a tooth, it is something that occasionally crosses my mind and makes me grateful I have all my teeth.

My smile is beautiful. I’m not bragging. I’m just stating a fact. I’ve been told by multiple sources; I can cite them if you want. (I have beautiful eyes too, but that’s nothing to do with my teeth or dream.) My dream was so real. I was eating a sandwich and suddenly my tooth was in my mouth. I can still feel the grinding of the tooth against my other teeth and the hole where my tooth came from. It seriously was traumatizing.

The dream made me think of what would I do if I had serious dental issues. And I have no idea how to answer that question. It also makes me question why doesn’t health insurance include dental. I mean according to the TV and internet multiple studies have found a strong correlation between dental health to the rest of the body. So, why wouldn’t it be a given? Not saying I’d go if I had access. Fuck the dentist. I hate that guy. (I know there are female dentists. I’ve just never been to one that I remember.) The fact remains, many people who need dental care as part of their overall health, cannot get it because it’s not included in their insurance package. And to me, that’s just bullshit. Can you tell it’s a Monday blog? Because I totally can.

Friday’s Afternoon Delight

Spoiler: There will be no afternoon delights mentioned in the innuendo way. I was just referring to the time of day I’m writing this, and the fact it will be delightful. At least I hope it will. But this also a race against time. Because my friend will be coming through the coffee shop door soon, and if I’m not done, he’ll make fun of me for my hipster ways. Or at the very least raise his eyebrows in a surprised manner.

Confession, I love writing in coffee shops. There are so many interesting characters and smells. Very interesting characters as this shop is on a bus line from out of downtown, but dear heavens, if your kid is throwing a fit take it out. I don’t be shoot it in the head; I mean physically remove it from the premises. As opposed to idly threatening to discipline them. Oh right the other thing about writing in cafes is that it’s super distracting.

But at least I get to share my thoughts and experiences with you, dear readers. Holy crap a man just walked in wearing an iWatch. I have never wanted to punch anyone more in the back of the head as I do him. Well… it’s been a long while since I’ve wanted to. Normally, I’m a loving (ish) person. But new technology intimidates me, and I fear change. And stupid looking accessories…. Google glass wearers I’m looking your direction as well.

Friend just walked through the door. And I’m still not done. Now we’ll be even more awkward than iWatch man and his friend, who are sitting at a table both with their Macs out. (No innuendo. I was referring to their computers.) I don’t have  grudge against Apple products. Because I will typing to him whilst we talk about the British general election.Because you know, why the hell not? And I encourage him to make wise choices  in academia.

Okay, now I must be going. Because you know, manners.