One Shot.

Ugh, that’s been battering around in my head all night.  I barely slept.

I DON’T HAVE A PLAN B OR C.  If this doesn’t work out for me, I’ll be one of those lifetime waitresses who’s hair just gets bigger and bigger each year and her voice coarser and coarser.  I’ll die of lung cancer at the age of 45.  Or worse yet, I’ll end up choking on a hairball spit out by one of my 75 cats.

If I don’t stop thinking about this nonsense, it will become a self-fulfilled prophecy.

Yesterday I went to class.  Poetry, bah.  Group activities, pleh.  Then I turned in some paperwork for my other job – yes, school, grad school apps, and two jobs.  Things are looking to get difficult.

I came home and started typing up what I wrote on Tuesday, because it concerns me to only have a hard copy of anything.  But I was so, so tired.  I watched part of Cove with my brother and must watch the remainder at some point relatively soon.  Then I passed out until I went to work.

At work one of the full-timers quit.  She was one of my favorite people to work with, so it’s kind of a bummer.  But also it means more hours and possibly a move to Sacramento so that I’m not clocking so many hours behind the wheel.  So add that to the list: School, Grad School, 2 Jobs, and Moving.  Moving is always such a relaxing event too.  Anyway, my comrade’s quitting was kind of a debacle, and the owner berated her in Japanese for a good twenty-minutes while I tried to hide in the corner and wait for my cash.  It’s awesome how people are so super polite…until they’re NOT.

Then I came home and passed out watching Airheads, a Brendan Frasier classic.  A productive day?  Not so much.  Luckily I’m able to look at my 16-hour Tuesday and half-written draft and not off myself.  No no, not yet.  Instead I will press on.


aspiring writer with a penchant for cheap jewelry and self-doubt.

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