Bad news: My computer contracted something. 
Thus we had to start all over. And I mean ALL over.
EVERYTHING is gone.

Good news: I have copies of a lot of things both on my laptop and my drive at work. (Thanks Coliseum for allowing me time to write my book and other stuff.)

There are a LOT of things that I don't have. A lot of notes about "My Heart Lies" not to mention any copies of it I might have had. I think I have something in my email folders with it. I'm not genuinely worried as I know you have it Bryan.

Anyway, something compelled me this last week to go back over my book and patch it up a bit.
And by "patch" I mean turn present tense to past tense.
And by "a bit" I mean 170 of the 198 pages. 

Well, wth my computer going the way of John Travolta (working, not working, working again. you get it) I haven't sat at it but once, due to the absolute defeat I feel having ALL that music, work, and programs completely obliterated. 

Strangely enough, my seeming incapability to create anything new actually played out for the good in this case because if you GOT nothing, you LOSE nothing.  My lack of creative prowess however still bothers me.

BACK TO THE POINT, man I get side tracked easy, not wanting to even look at my other computer, I decided to put Microsoft office on the laptop.
(I had previously delayed doing it because this laptop is tempermental about accepting new stuff.)
Office went on the laptop with such ease, I almost felt like the software was giving me the finger.

Having spent a few hours at work the week before working on changing the tense in my book, I decided I'd see what I could do about continuing the work here at home, now that it was on the laptop.
The first 40 pages took about 5 days at work.
Page 41 through 162 took me from Sunday night, monday and tuesday at home, and about an hour, off and on today. 

I've got a total of I think 9 pages left to change, and I'm simply not going to do it tonight. It will, and I mean BEYOND A DOUBT, be done by midnight tomorrow. 

Tuesday, I started at about 9:30, having gotten up to go to a 730 meeting on my day off. I worked a bit, fell asleep, worked some more, fell back to sleep, worked worked worked and stopped. Patti came home from work, we hung out doing whatever it is we do, and by 830 I was back to work on it until 130. 

You're like, "what the crap was taking you so long?" Which you shouldn't be because I said why, but if not I'll get into it.

What I was doing was taking EVERY. SINGLE. MOTHER. F'ing. VERB. in the book, and changing the ES's to ED's, the IS's to WAS's (hehe, izzes to wuzzes) the say's to said's, the have's to had's, can's to could's, will's to would's, etc etc etc.
All the way from page 1 to page 170, (and I'm talking font size 10) where mercifully, the tense finally changes back. 

I wouldn't have had to do 170 pages, but about the time I got to page 60 something, I determined that where the book flashes back FROM, needed to be moved back..OOOOOH, about 40 some pages. Which was confirmed when I asked Bryan what he thought and he agreed with me.

The task was daunting, but I knew the beginning would benefit from it and thus the book. To give you an idea of it, had I left the point where it was, I would have finished my tense changes about 1 yesterday. 

BUT! I'm 9 pages out! With that completed, I feel a LOT better about sending it out. It's got some other things I'm sure I need to get ready, but I've got it looking good enough to try and pass it off for completed manuscript.

NOW, I need to find some representation. 
And on top of that, I need to write the trailer.

Having read the book again (some parts for the first time in a year or so) I've got a better idea of what I can do with it.

But I still seem incapable to create anything. I MUST overcome it. I absolutely must. I know its still in me somewhere, I just have to find it...

This was going to be a rage fest. I wanted to do it last night but I wasn't actually raging.

This morning, I'm angry enough, but I'm apparently going to be too busy for  it. Plus I have to keep switching screens because, and this is another reason for the rage, I'm here only with my boss, who this moment is pacing around the store talking on his Bluetooth. Mind you I'm only privy to 1/2 the conversation, (all of which I don't care about) but he's saying things that I think he thinks are funny and doing that fast breathing in and out laugh that he does that sends me over the edge and makes me want to punch him. 

And that feeling only gets stronger the less funny whatever he says is. He was looking at me every time and wanting me to laugh or something, I don't know. I pretended like I was REALLY focused on what I was doing. He's since retired to his office.

Why is Matt Damon in Decatur? More to the point, why the hell do I have to hear about these things from the effin' Pantagraph?
A movie. In Decatur.

The entire idea that I don't even have a role as an extra that walks by somewhere in the background for an 1/8 of a second drives me up the wall. 

By the way I'm doing fractions with numbers instead of letters today. 

You can't feel it as this reads like a seamless work of fiction, but its been an hour from the time I started this until now.
The rage is still here, but its given way to tiredness. A hard candy shell of tired anger with a depressed creamy center.  
It's enough to make me want to give up.

I struggle so hard against a certain way of life, but I don't fight for the one I want.

I have received your submission and appreciate the chance to consider your work.  Unfortunately, we receive such a high volume of e-queries that we can no longer respond personally to every submission.  Please know that, nonetheless, we give serious consideration to your work.

If I am interested in seeing more of your material, I will contact you again to let you know what I would like to see.  Otherwise, if you have not heard from me within 6 weeks, please assume that I am passing on your work. 

Best regards,
Lady with a face. 

I prematurely state that it is indeed a miss. I still hold out hope for this working, even though after I sent it I realized I misspelled her name in the query. 
There's just something about the whole, "Wait for me to get back to you and if I don't get back to you, then sorry."

It's as professional as one can get I assume, and I should be thankful I at least got a response. I sent this in at 1 something last night. I figure this is a mass email reply, but if it were, I'd think it would have come last night at about 1:10. 

We'll see. It's something right? First thing I've submitted since last month.

More appropriately, sleep because I'm dead.

Wanna know the worst of it?
I'm seriously jonesing for a glass of milk, and there simply is NO milk to be had.

I knew I should have made the run earlier at like 10.

Dang it.


I'm in a half conscious state right now.
Beyond eerily calm.
I can and should sleep at this instant and yet I'm posting.

I set up a facebook.
Thus far its almost entirely worthless for one reason or another.
We'll see what happens. 
Richard Roeper's my friend now though.

Yeah, I know. Go figure.
I had his email addy saved in my hotmail account for some reason.
Him and a slew, slough, slut of people I no longer talk to.
(Yes, an entire slut's worth)
And I think I gave it the go-ahead, so we'll see what becomes of it.

Why must I constantly ache?
It makes it hard to maintain a constant stream of absolute positivity.
Not that I'm anything of the sort as it is, but still.

Even though it looks like it, 
this isn't some free verse poem. 
Assuming I have correctly identified what a free verse poem is.

Its just a lot of unconnected thoughts dodging in and out of my mind.
So I divide them up. It's only the previous paragraph
that I started making a conscious effort to align them like they are.

Anyway, I think I'm going to fall asleep to the Big Lebowski...

I'm in a major slump right now.
I have no idea why.
A lot of people have it a bagillion times worse than me, but even a change of perspective doesn't want to change anything.
Among all the people I know, I have the least amount of reasons to complain. 

I started physical therapy yesterday for my back. Nothing to serious, just a regular evaluation.  I think it was regular, I'm not sure exactly how those things go. 
Besides my back, I don't know what I have to be upset about. 

Completely unrelated, I just helped these two older ladies that wanted something "cutesy and sparkly" for her phone.
Well, we don't have anything for that model that is either cutesy or sparkly. I say the only thing we have for that phone is this leather case. 

I DON'T WANT THAT!

Well excuse the heck out of me! Cart your miserable sparkly seeking butt out of my store and head to the mall where there's a place that sells them.

What I really said is, "We don't sell those because changing them will void your warranty."
THEN I told her to try the mall. 
She didn't let me finish as she said, "We were there and they had them but not for this phone!"

At this point I'm surprised she's lived as long as she has, because the way she's getting all out of whack over a sparkly case makes me ponder how it is high blood pressure didn't take her a long time ago.

Anyway, I'm passed it. What is this overall feeling of malaise? Why can't I ditch it? What am I that depressed about? I wonder if part of it isn't about my previous momentary lapse of faith. 
It was only like half a day when I finally got fed up with not getting any kind of answer as to why I'm in the constant pain I am in. 
It bothers me. That bothers anyone though. The unknown. 
I got angry that if there wasn't a good reason for it then I shouldn't hurt like I do. Especially after asking if it could be taken away. 
Then a joke I heard a long time ago came to me. 

This flood was ripping through a small town. An old man was sitting on his front porch as the water was slowly rising up his steps. 
A boat with two guys in bright yellow jackets came up and said, "The dam's about to burst! We're evacuating people. Get in and we'll take you to safety."
The guy waves them off and says, "No worries! God's gonna take care of me."
An hour goes by, the dam broke and the water was up to the second floor of his house. The old man sat on the roof as another boat came by, "The entire town is going to be under water soon! Get in the boat! We'll take you to safety!"
He waved them off. "God's gonna take care of me!"
The boat leaves. 
Another 20 minutes go by and by now the old man is clinging to his chimney for dear life when a helicopter drops a rope ladder down to him.
"Grab the rope! We'll lift you to safety!"
He grabs the bottom rung of the ladder and pushes it away. "I don't need it! God's gonna take care of me!"
Twenty minutes later, the old man has drown and is standing before God in heaven. 
"Your Lordness," he starts calmly before ripping off a soggy shoe and chucking it across heaven's floor. "I put my trust in you!  Why didn't you help me out when I needed you the most."
God shrugged. "What do you want from me? I sent you two boats and a helicopter."

Meaning sometimes the means by which things are brought to us from God aren't all that divine so much as they are
human, and readily available.
What I'm getting at, is that I think I've been looking for some supernatural fix to a physical problem. I'm thinking this physical therapy is one of my boats. 
And part of this therapy, assuming this works in the long run, is to strengthen my back muscles, so that maybe I can avoid troubles in the future. Or at least have them fewer and farther between. 

And all of that aside, things are going well. 

So why do I feel so miserable?