“Hope Floats” pisses me off.

I haven’t watched this one for years. I watched it tonight and I could’ve strangled Sandra Bullock, listening to her tell Harry Connick Junior ”Ah can’t dayte yewww” and “Ah can’t kiss yewwww.”  And then we’re supposed to believe that she found the magical powers of hope by the end? You don’t need magical powers of hope when a handsome piece of work like that is throwing himself at you from the first minute.  You need magical powers of hope when it’s been fucking years and there’s no one even taking an interest.

I was trying to sew on some fucking buttons tonight because I’ve got literally a box full of tops but I can’t wear because the bottom is falling off, and I lost a needle and a spool of thread.  I don’t know how the fuck I could do that. I was sitting fucking watching the movie on the couch, and sewing on buttons, and I must’ve knocked the spool off the coffee table or something. I can’t find it now, and I’m paranoid that the cat will step on the needle although I guess that’s not likely if I can’t see it. I am sure  it’s fucking depression concentration that’s at fault, that I went to get a glass of water and put the thread in the cupboard or something stupid, but now I’m too tired and sad to look for it. So I guess I’ll wait till tomorrow.

In other news, I started taking my illegal Accutane this week. I understand that they don’t want people to take it and get pregnant, but there something wrong with the system when I just find it easier to pay out of pocket on the Internet for them than to to jump through the official hoops. I found some North American sources which are tied to steroids distribution. I never would’ve thought, but maybe taking steroids for bodybuilding makes you break out.




Migraine guilt.

I missed work yesterday because of a migraine. It was really really bad. I couldn’t move because I was sure that I would throw up, and I needed to move to get a needle to give myself so that I wouldn’t throw up. I didn’t even call in sick because I couldn’t move to reach the phone or my iPad.

Today I woke up with a migraine,  and went to work like a trooper and then came home and now I have the one sided throb and frozen feet.  So I’m in bed, even though it’s only mid evening, but I’m thinking about all that I could or should be doing.  It sucks.

The Nothing.

Does anyone else remember the movie “the never-ending story”? I remember the threat of the nothingness coming into the kingdom, and the nothingness is what depression feels like.

I don’t want to do anything, or feel anything. It’s way too early to go to bed, but late enough that I don’t want to start some project either. I don’t even feel like watching TV. Just apathetic. Maybe I have a migraine coming. The weather report doesn’t say that there’s anything on the way, but it’s been wrong before…

To-do list

I put “put bra and shirt on” as a Thing I Have Accomplished Today. Yep, I’m reaching. I had bought some baskets of mushrooms because they were the cheapest, which turned out to be a mistake as when I sat down to clean them they had become moldy  from being in the damp plastic. Great.

Too good to pass up.

Honestly, I know I said I would drop this, but it’s comedy gold! The fan who had commented here asserted the writer I criticized wasn’t young and inexperienced because she’d paid someone to print as few as 15 copies of her books. I thought hmmm… let’s give this lady a Google and see if I was wrong.

So this “journal” that she has also been published in (http://www.indianavoicejournal.com/2016/07/a-poem-by-candice-louisa-daquin-suffrage.html)

has this to say:

Candice Louisa Daquin is of Sephardic origin and immigrated to the US. She currently lives in the American Southwest. She is a long time editor, reviewer and writer of poetry, and has published three books. Her forth will be available this year. Daquin is an ardent supporter of equality and immigration reform.

Her FORTH, you say? I guess spell-check didn’t catch that should have been “fourth” and neither did the editors of this, ahem, prestigious literary magazine. It’s an online only journal and that is dated July 7, 2016; a full year ago.


I mean it comes back again to wanting to convince yourself that you, or the person you are a fan of, are already awesome instead of a work in progress needing a great deal of progress indeed…

Kicking yourself in hindsight

Apparently the writer whose work was rejected, after blocking me from her own blog, has sent all her fans here to read all about what a big bully I am (by being pissy and snippy in writing about my interaction with her for my own purposes on my own blog.) Let’s just remember that her fan called me an “arrogant prick” if we’re going to talk bout bullying…

It’s not like I haven’t given this any thought.  My tone degraded, and I apologized for it in a comment on her blog before she blocked me. I AM sorry that she was hurt, especially if as I suspect (and none of her fans have disputed) that she is young and inexperienced.

Here’s the thing though: I am more frustrated with myself than I am with her, or anyone else involved in this, and this is why: I thought even as I started the first, gentle, maybe-you-might-consider email that I was going to be wasting my time. I just don’t think she or her fans are in a space where they can hear “your writing isn’t good” no matter how professionally or kindly it is stated.

So what was my fuckup? I kept going. And I kept going because I thought if I was somehow able to get across to her with my writing that her writing needs work in these structural elements, then she could work on it, get published easily in the future, and it would be a win-win for her and her fans.

That was arrogant and deluded on my part. Her inability to take criticism isn’t based on what I was saying or on what the journal editor said, or on how we said it. She, and her fans, are defensively invested in her identity as a “good writer.” So I’ve hurt her, pissed off her league of fans, and got nowhere in convincing her that the journal editor had a point. And now, I have to let this go.

Edit: proof that her fans are too invested to see the facts: she has self-published books (where you pay a printer the full printing costs so anyone can “self-print” anything.) Nope, that doesn’t have the same street cred as a real publication, to anyone but fans of authors who only have self-published work! Ha!

Vanishing bookmarks.

I just tried to pull up the blog teaching cancer to cry, and it’s gone. It was written by this guy named Ezra Caldwell, who started out as a dance instructor and then switch to building bicycles. He got diagnosed with cancer and kept a blog with his experiences.  He had treatments and surgeries and decided not to pursue treatment when the cancer recurred, so he died two or three years ago.

Even though I’ve read the entire thing, I’d go back periodically just because I enjoyed reading his writing, and enjoyed his descriptions of his foodie meals,  and now it’s gone. I can’t blame his wife for not wanting to go to paying for and maintaining the web domain, and I’m sure I can get it through the Internet way back machine, but it’s just kind of a shock when you go to a familiar bookmark and get that 404.