Don't stop; can't stop...

and I wonder why I'm so tired all the time?

I should also know to wait to read anything as contentious as fanfic writing opinions before all my brain cells are awake. Yes, I did read the link, and valid points are made on both sides. Did reading it change anything about how I view fanfiction and the writing of it? Nope. I wrote original first and will write it last. But I only put my best efforts on the Internet, and that goes for both. I hope I can take Bradley and Lackey's view of playing when it turns around on my writing.

Last update I had on Savannah was yesterday: they did lastik on her to get rid of the fluid build up from her non-functioning kidneys. The stomach port for nutrition is in and stable. Parents decision, they decided feeding her wasn't part of the live support Savannah said she didn't want. I can't stay around the Sharp side of her family for very long. My jaw will unlock and will tell them off. They want to try all life-support because "people come out of comas all the time." First off, you people didn't even spend anytime with Savannah to learn what she felt about life support. Second, coma, persistant vegitative state, whatever Terry Schivo had wrong with her is not the same thing as organ functioning stopping. To compare those cases with Savannah's case is delusional hope. I know they're hurting too, so I just walk away.

How true is it that I thrive on stress? Not very I guess. I miss Chad like hell, and turn into screaming shrew woman when I do get time with him. The movies were fun, feeling like a real date. Being cranky and screaming over a stupid "what's wrong with the system" conversation hardly says I love you. I don't know how to stop doing it. Hell, I don't even know why I picked up that behavior out of all others from my father, especially how much I hate it in him. Okay, now I just hope that I'm super tired and just over analyzing it like I always do.

Meanwhile, along with my cousin is dying and there's nothing you can do demon, the social system is all fucked up and I want to do something and there's nothing I can do demon, and the dysfunctional girlfriend who doesn't deserve a boyfriend to yell at demon, I have all the evil writing related demons bashing me and fueling my yelling hysterics. It's almost enough to make me wish I was a weepy hysteric instead. Crying seems like so much more normal reaction than burning rage. And with as much analysis as I put into how I feel, I don't understand why I'm having such a block with literary criticism. Screw it, I'm not reading all that (the assignment for today) in one frickin' day. I'll wow her with the paper.

September 30 analysis written in a notebook:

the car ride home and it's time for my daily reflection to the sounds of Metallica and San Francisco Orchestra; gotta love the S&M album.

So what's bothering me today besides the pinched nerve in my neck and lack of sunglasses (I figure they're in my black bag on the back seat I must empty it someday)? Same thing bothering me every ride home, Pinky. My writing career.

I had a productive day today for nonfiction. Deadlines and slack work time are a blessing. That thing called sleep probably isn't going to happen this weekend. I'd be having a typing marathon [didn't happen I ended up at the hospital with my cousin], up early to get Chad [sorta happened with a lousy definition of "early"], put in toilet [actually we got this one accomplished! Now we just have to find the tiny leak on it], finish typing [stop laughing this is my delusional-ish self-reflection], two movies [both were very good escapism which I desperately needed by that point], taking Chad back [I finally got to type at his mother's]; you get the idea what my weekend looks like.

Anyways, productive for nonfiction. My car time, when not spent in self-reflection, has been useful for a TMNT fanfic experiment--which I think is just an excuse by me to not deal with transitions--and for a revision rewrite of the prologue for my webcomic idea. I'm thinking I can offer it for sale on my website if it's good enough. No just cause I don't intended it for magazine sales doesn't mean it can be substandard. The two or three short story ideas for magazines have been holding stagnant, and I want to work on Zy's novel again. But I've still been productive.

Yet it doesn't feel productive. I'm tired all the time and can't justify spending time on housework or homework, much less writing. SLU English Department is starting a writing group meeting at 3pm. Everything they do is in the fucking middle of the day. I know I need to yell louder to have my needs met as a student, but trying, but trying to raise enough energy throught the demons yelling that their lack of sympathy is just proof that I'm not part of the group and will always be exiled. Never hired, never a member of the group with a valid opinion. Outsider wanting to be part of the cool crowd once again. [Most of this brought on by Thursday night drama that left me with equal parts of "I'm supposed to have something in common with these people" and "grow up already." Added to the residual disappointment over the job opportunity.]

Look don't tell me it's stupid feeling that way even slightly. I know it's stupid. But I also can't help thinking it when I'm depressed over the fact Chad and I were supposed to be in classes at the same time this semester and here I am eating alone while everyone else is in that happy bliss of college life and my classes suck and the only think I'll probably get out of them is which 17th century writer make good quotes. And add to that I will never get away from the soul-sucking commute cause the job employment gods hate me. Fun being in my head isn't it? [No, I really don't expect that to have a positive answer.]

What's wrong with me? I'm not even sure if a writing group will help. Forward Motion just added to my stress. I read a rant by Scott Kurtz in how he found his creative spark and hasn't missed a day of PvP since. I want that. Desperately.

I should go reexamine Heather Sellers advice on dealing with demons and calling the muse back. And I better do it soon before I have a nervous breakdown over my writing career.

Yeah, I made up my mind after that to pull a marathon typing sessions coupled with some self-help reading and delivery pizza. And my parents called just as I was eating my first slice.

My first conclusion from rehashing this is I need a good grounding and a nap. In more long term help I found this advice today from Carolyn Hax:

Your best chance of finding peace with others is to make some peace with yourself, by accepting a less-than-perfect aspect of your personality, making the best use of it, being careful not to take it out on others, using all this as a way to like your less-than-perfect self -- and then letting your critics love it or leave it.

Yeah that last bit is something I need to work on. Along with dealing with my residual outcast back-lash. I don't need everyone to love me, just the ones I know already do.

Read Free!
The BookWorm