Super Bowl-Sh*t

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I am not normally one to watch football and don’t watch any of the matches through the rest of the year, so it doesn’t matter to me which colored jersey wins, ya dig?

(My sister-in-law and brother-in-law and I just so happened to choose the winning side to root for, which was a psychic bonus, I suppose.)

That being said, as a family, we all sit down and watch the Super Bowl, and so I had a chance to spy the infamous ads which would later cause such an online flummox.

At any rate, watching the commercials during the breaks, I wasn’t ‘blown away’ by any, and some even made me smile a bit. I mean, I don’t even drink Budweiser, but I love their Clydesdale commercials—who doesn’t love puppies and horses?!


 …I digress.

Never once did it occur to me that two ads would have made such an outrageous impact for ALL of the wrong reasons.

Now, I watched both of these ads. I watched them with my whole family, and none of us saw anything wrong with them. We just watched them and moved on, but the Internet was already abuzz with misplaced rage.

Why? Because in this day and age, ignorance can’t be contained. It must be spread online, typically over social media forums that allow for people to spew their idiot vomit in 140 characters or less.

So, in lieu of simply calling people on their backwoods bullshit, let’s break down all of the fun reasons that people who found these commercials offensive are racist, bigoted morons!

Coca Cola has people singing “America the Beautiful” in languages other than English.

1. “I didn’t like people singing the national anthem in another language.”

If you have made it to an age where you can go out into the world and type with any kind of clarity into social media a slightly literate sentence about your opinion… you should at least be able to understand that if you’re going to open your mouth about something, you should have some facts to back it up.

a)    America the Beautiful is NOT our national anthem. Our national anthem is The Star Spangled Banner.

b)   This song was written by Katherine Lee Bates (*gasp*, a WOMAN?!) who was also a lesbian (Double gasp!). She left the Republican party in 1924 over growing xenophobia.

c)    Xenophobia: the intense or irrational dislike and fear of people from other countries (sound familiar?)

2. “This is Uh-meri-cuh. We speak ENGLISH here.”

a)    America has no official national language. This is because we are a melting pot… Think of the Statue of Liberty’s inscription. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…” The inscription didn’t say, “Give me people who speak American English and nothing else.”

b)   We have plenty of U.S. citizens (legit citizens, okay?) who speak a language other than English, but are still American. It happens, since, you know, immigration from other countries.

c)    American English is a hard language to learn, but you know what? Some foreign countries actually assign it as a language in their classrooms. There are foreigners all over the world who have mastered the English language better than a good portion of Americans in America.

d)   How many people in America can easily discern the difference between:

It’s and Its;

Two, To, and Too

Your and You’re

They’re, Their, and There

Where and We’re

Write and Right


Believe it or not, this is foreign language to some Americans…

Cheerios shows an interracial couple with a child.

a)    Welcome to America, where your birthplace doesn’t matter, but the color of your skin does? If you can’t get it through your skull that people are people, and we’re all pink and meaty on the inside regardless of our exteriors, then you really should go back to high school biology class and retake that segment, because clearly, you missed a huge plot twist.

b)   People evolved and adapted over many years to develop different pigmentation in their skin based on their environments and what they required in order to survive. Us extra white white people lived in regions where it was cold, we didn’t stay in the sun all day, and in a lot of places, it snowed. Therefore, we developed lighter skin, because nature decided that was what we needed. The good portion of people with darker skin lived in hotter climates, where their darker skin protected them from a harsher sun, and ensured that they wouldn’t stick out like… well, like a white person on the Savannah.

c)    Science, bitches.

d)   Because we are able to migrate all over the world today, and people of any racial orientation can move wherever they want, there are tons of people from different places everywhere.

e)    Sometimes, those people fall in love with someone who doesn’t look like them. Imagine if there was a fallout because blonde people were marrying brunettes instead of other blondes. See how silly that is? Now apply that ideal to skin color. It’s pretty lame, isn’t it?

Before this totally blows your mind, I assure you, there is no rule where someone of one race can’t fall in love with someone of another race. Our parts all work the same in the end, and again, if you can’t figure out that we’re all just people, you should probably go and learn that so you can understand how someone could have a baby from such a union.

(Hint: It’s the regular way since they’re no different from you)

I would really love for people to stop letting hate-mongering idiots dictate their views.

Let’s drop that racist ‘Murica! mentality for 2014, okay?

The Apple Store is Like a Partial Journey Through One of the Circles of Hell

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Recently, I had the brilliant idea to update my Macbook Pro from Mountain Lion (which I had literally just gotten used to) to Mavericks, because a) It was free, b) It was free, c) It was supposed to be an improvement, and d) Did I mention that I love free shit?!?!

What followed was a catastrophic series of events that I am still not entirely certain I’ve escaped from… it’s like my computer is a repair junkie and I just got it back from the shop and I’m waiting to see if it’s going to relapse on me.

The coming signs of the apocalypse:

1. If you update your computer and suddenly get weird, black checkerboard markings behind windows, it’s not supposed to be there.

2. If your Safari ‘Recent History’ page on a new tab looks like it was taken over by the static from the ghosts on Poltergeist, you guessed it! It’s not supposed to be there.

3. If your Macbook starts lagging, freezing, or displaying the tendencies of the old Windows computer you decommissioned and sold to buy the laptop, it seems like you are probably on the road to a terrible, terrible place that I like to call:


Have you ever walked into a room where you instantly felt that you didn’t belong? Got that icy, miserable, shooting feeling that someone who thought they were better than you was staring real hard at the back of your neck? Then you, my friend, know what the atmosphere in an Apple store feels like.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I have never encountered someone who works for the Apple store who is douchey to me. This is ENTIRELY reserved for people who come in there to buy superfluous accessories, overpriced machinery, or take classes on how to use said items. There are a couple of things about the Apple store, however, that lend themselves to creating this atmosphere and even intensifying it over time so that you’re either found unworthy to remain and are expelled from the premises posthaste, OR

You become that loathsome individual who glares at me at the Genius bar because I took the seat next to you, even though it was empty and you’re alone.


At any rate, be prepared for the hailstorm of sub-zero glares and people annoyed that they have to wait and let you go first, even though you arrived a full ten minutes ahead of your reservation time.

As I said, there are certain factors that go into Apple store set-ups that lead to confusion, irritation, and self-righteousness in their customers. In the particular store that I frequent (multiple times, recently), it is a single, large room that extends to the back where a Genius Bar rests. Along the sides are computers, some displays, and thousands, and thousands* of people.


 *May not actually contain thousands of people.

When you walk in the door, the first thing that happens is one of two things: You will either glide by, completely ignored, shuffling your way past the dozens of Apple denizens clogging the single entrance and escape, or, you will be accosted by both the Apple workers, and the angry, searing faces of customers. Likely, both.

In either case, the first person to greet you has an iPad in his/her hand. They will ask you what they can do to help you with.

“Ah,” you think, surprised at the genteel and pleasant greeting, “a person who can help me at the door, and not send me into the fray of swirling, tangled madness that lies a few feet away. Mayhap they can even allow me to complete my quest here, rather than tread into that mire?” … Or, maybe not, because you don’t speak with an Old English accent.

“I’m here for an appointment at the Genius Bar,” you might say, if you’re me, since you were there for that. The worker turns, his eyes large, his face unsmiling. He points a long finger into the dark, bubbling cauldron of insanity.

“Three tables hence, you will find a man or a woman who doth carry a green-plated iPad… this person will start you on your quest, but hark! Many others seek to do the same.”

“Uh… okay. Weird,” you say, even though you don’t think to judge the fact that you were just speaking that way a moment ago. Also, you may ignore that you’re being a giant, Old English-y hypocrite.

You push through the perilous pathway to find the person with the green iPad, only to realize that they are SURROUNDED on ALL SIDES by sour-faced people who are there for the same reason that you are, and there is no way to attract attention to yourself without doing something illegal or stupid. You could scream and jump up and down, but likely, they’d just mistake you for one of the many children in there already doing the same.

So you wait. You watch dozens of people cut the queue and jump in front of you, but you can’t do anything because you aren’t even sure where it starts, or who came after you. Finally, you reach the person with the iPad. He holds up a finger and signals you to wait, which is unbearable, because at any moment one of the vultures on the sidelines is waiting for a weak point to jump in and attract his attention. Finally, he looks up at you with a sad smile.

You explain why you’re there, over the din of the surrounding mosh pit, and then he checks your name off of the tablet after you spell it for him five times and finally just point it out yourself. Then, comes the third leg of the journey. He lifts his arm, and you can feel your heart dropping into your stomach. He points his finger, and sends you to the back. Alllllllll the bloody way to the back toward the Genius Bar, which is the very heart of the insanity in the store. You nod to yourself, suck up your trembling chin, and march.

The Genius Bar. There are four wizards toiling, but there are twenty peasants sucking up air around them. Screaming. Wailing, Gnashing their teeth over the broken and misfiring bits of electronic machine. But where do you go? You know that you must choose wisely or risk losing your tentative position in the order.

Don’t sit by the training tables, you’ll get passed over and someone will yell at you for taking a stool. Don’t hover over someone’s shoulder. Don’t stand at the wall, they won’t know you’re there. You have to act, quick! Like a hawk, the first seat you see, snatch it. Doesn’t matter that there are twelve people gunning for that same coveted seat. Don’t mind that you can feel their eyes cursing you—run for it!

You wait twenty minutes for your reservation, even though it’s fifteen minutes past when you were supposed to be seen. You quietly, sadly watch the wizards’ faces while they march past, hoping to be the lucky one that gets chosen next. Finally, they descend to you. Angels sing. Clouds part. The light pours through the heavens. You have the attention of someone who can help! Oh lucky day! Explain the problem, leave your computer, and count down the days until your return. Brave the madness one more time, only to get your computer home and realize it’s still messing up.

Shake your fists to the sky, curse, and scream, and know that you will have to do it all again. Your journey was for naught.

The conclusion of this sad tale: Don’t be a dick to me in the Apple Store.

Be considerate of others who have to share the same space as you. The store is tiny and you’re only making me hate you making it harder for people to do what they need to do.


NaNoWriMo hangovers, anyone?

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I’ve been AWOL for a bit because I’ve been swamped with other writing and editing work, which is a good thing, and an insane undertaking at the same time.

When November started, I actually had this crazy idea in mind to take a break from novel writing for a while, because, well, I worked on my two fantasy novels an awful lot, and dammit if I didn’t want a break. So what did I end up doing?

If you guessed that I completely ignored the opportunity to take a rest from writing by writing at a more furious pace than ever, then… wow, you know me pretty well.

And for the record, get out of my head.

I decided on day 5 that I was going to take a crack at NaNoWriMo, because hey, I had a book idea, and two, “Why not?” It was only after the ridiculously grueling pace for myself cut in that I realized I had written my 50,000 word quota by the 23rd of November, thus making myself slightly more insane than usual, and even squirrely-er than ever.

(Do other people not hiss when daylight hits their eyes?)

After getting myself to 60,000 words by the end of November, I know that I am dying to take a break from it all. How did everyone else fare? Did you get your word count, or close to?


I’m hoping to have this latest book, The Death of Narcissus finished within maybe two months, and then I’ll start trying to get that beastie pared down and beefed up, dependent on whatever it needs. This is a rush job, so I’m not going to kid myself… it’s GOING to need some work. 

(And of course I’ll have a sneak preview for you guys later on!)

In the meantime, I’ve also recently gotten the opportunity to apply to be an editor for a publishing house, which is very exciting stuff. The opportunity came just a day or so after I received my diploma in the mail, which seemed like a pretty life-choice affirming coincidence, if you ask me. Between my writing, editing, and the work I’m doing in the industry, I’m hoping that my big payoff is going to come any day now. I could use a vacation… maybe go to a tropical island paradise to… I don’t know. Read and write, probably.

That’s the only way we bookworms know how to enjoy ourselves, apparently.

Word Goal Update

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Don’t think I’ve forgotten to update you as to my status on my 20k word goal! I have simply been too busy to get anything up the past couple of days.

Now, in case you’re wondering, of my final goal, I reached… drumroll please…

Screen Shot 2013-11-03 at 6.52.48 AM

Eighty-six thousand out of ninety thousand!!! And we’re not going to talk about the other 1000+ words that irritated me enough to delete them in a caffeine-fueled rage. (Or the extra 2500 words I wrote into my first book.)

While it may not have been my total goal, I feel justified in saying that I don’t feel like I failed. I have been super busy with my job, my internship, handling my other book, and attending no less than three family get-togethers in the last month.

(Trust me, that’s more social interaction than I usually get.)

I also recently got the sequel to a book that I am absolutely in love with, which means that I spent a large amount of time just reading.  For those who don’t know about John Dies at the End, or it’s sequel, This Book is Full of Spiders; Seriously, Dude, Don’t Touch It by David Wong, you’re missing out on two amazing books which I would be totally more than happy to shove in your face and rub all around and hope that you could absorb words through osmosis. If you can’t, you should feel lucky that you got intimately assaulted by a crazy fan-girl with a fantastic book.

Screen Shot 2013-11-03 at 7.29.08 AM

It’s a win-win either way, really.

Given that November is the month for NaNoWriMo, I know that many of you are getting out your pens and word processors and getting ready to fire up the ole’ noggin for a 50,000 word count. That’s impressive, and I don’t envy you the task of pulling that one out of your arse. I will not be doing NaNoWriMo this year, although my writing goal for the month will be to finish my second book, so it will most likely be another 10k more words and some additions to back story.

After cleaning up the final copy of my first book, The Moon God’s Curse to send out to readers and agents, I have had a couple of epiphanies in situations to correct in the second book, and so I’m going to take the opportunity to do that while they’re still fresh. See? Not feeling the failure when I have so many ideas swirlin’ around.

I know that some of you are aware that this little gem came recently:


Which I’m totally digging so far. There is a section in there that lists a HUGE amount of agents and publishers, and I spent HOURS digging through there and compiling a list of twenty-four agencies to contact for representation.

Today happens to be the day that I’m going to gather my materials for round one of my queries, so hopefully lady luck will be on my side, and perhaps my Maneki Neko will be able to catch something in that little good luck paw of his.

Happy writing!

You drive me wild…ly into insanity.

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Writing is one of those art forms that only looks easy. From the outside perspective, it’s me, sitting at my computer, typing onto a page.

People who do not write will never understand the daunting, niggling fear of the blank page. The emptiness that represents every unfilled opportunity that you had to fill that void and make something out of the nothing that stares at you, and you couldn’t do it.

(Even if that something is shit, which most writers also tend to think of their work at some point.)

Writing is not exactly a physical art. You’re not going to see my effort, you’re not going to see me break a sweat (unless there’s a deadline due!), and you’re probably not going to understand how much work and dedication is going into that baleful stare toward my computer screen. You’re certainly never going to know the nights that I’ve broken down and sworn to never write again, and the times that I’ve deleted whole manuscripts because I got pissy with a character or plot that wasn’t working out the way I had initially envisioned.

For those of you who don’t know, one of the hats I wear is that of an on-call nanny, which is different from the traditional one family nanny, which I have also done. This means that at any time I get a job, I am going into (most likely) a new situation, with new people, a new place, and new rules to abide by each time. Almost all of these people want to get more information about me, having just met me and realizing that they’re about to leave their child with a stranger, and one of the first things I’m typically asked is,

So what do you do in your spare time?

“I’m a writer,” I reply.

Being that I’m a recent graduate, I no longer have the option to tell people that I go to school for writing, so now I just have to wear that badge proudly. The entire time I was at school, I got to tell people that I was “studying to become a writer”. It seems like a cop out, because hey, writing makes you a writer, and countless lost hours of my life were spent on research, papers and scripts. Now that I’m out, I simply have to say it: I’m a writer, and I write. Prolifically.

Some people are slightly interested. Some ask me what I write, and then launch into tirades of someone that they know who knows someone who’s a writer. Exactly zero of these people have ever asked me if I have work published. I suppose that could be considered polite, since we both know they have no intention of reading it, and don’t want to waste my time or get my hopes up.

Usually, however, at this point the conversation can go one of two ways. The first one is usually something unenthusiastic or nonplussed along the lines of:

“Oh, that’s interesting.”

Or, my least, most puke-worthy, awful response, which is down and out condescending:

“A writer and a nanny? It must be nice to not have to work in a real job.”

To which I wish I could reply to you, but it’s all illiterate, nonsensical screaming sounds and random curse words while I simultaneously imagine your face having an intimate meeting with my fist while I sob uncontrollably.

Screen Shot 2013-10-26 at 5.56.18 AM

This is actually pretty accurate.

People often don’t understand that writing is an INSANE practice that requires years of work to hone and perfect, and even then, we all stand a 50/50 chance of wanting to burn our manuscripts at some point because we still think they’re shit. To some, a fiction writer is nothing more than a dreamer who sits in front of their computer drinking lattes and madly typing words onto a screen before proudly announcing to anyone within hearing range, “IT’S A TOLKIEN-ESQUE MASTERPIECE!” and immediately sending it away to be published.

People who don’t write (and I’m also looking at you, people who don’t read, although you’ll never know it because you won’t read this) will never understand that I’m not just writing… I’m juggling the lives of people that I’ve created, in a world that I dreamed up that I’m freaking making up as I go along and I’m pulling it out of thin air and vague associations like a g.d. magician pulling rabbits outta the hat. Meanwhile, the whole while I’m trying to convince myself that it’s as good as other people assure me it is, because I’m a constant negative force acting on my own self-esteem like a freight train going 70 towards a crumbly brick wall.


I don’t know if it’s out of blatant ignorance, or perhaps just spite that people associate writing with laziness. The truth is, on any given day, my brain is in eighteen different modes. In the past year, I have managed to graduate from college, write a book, nearly complete a second book, get my work published numerous times, work as a freelance editor, write video game scripts, perform as an editing intern, and still somehow manage to send my fiancé off to work everyday with lunch and a kiss—all while taking care of your children at my ‘not a real job’ while you’ve been punching corporate numbers.

You may not understand the toil of a writer; the constant mental anguish that we put ourselves through, and the quiet efforts that go into creating our work, but that doesn’t mean you should demean it. What I do isn’t “quaint”. It’s not “cute”, and no, it may not be a traditional job, but it’s what I chose to do, and it’s a hell of a lot better than being a desk jockey for a soulless corporation any day of the week. I would also like to remind you that women used to be institutionalized for reading novels—imagine how dangerous my writing ‘not a job’ is now.

A real job?

Fella, you don’t know what a real job is.



Stories to Make Your Skin Crawl…

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Hey everyone!!

In honor of Halloween, I thought I’d share with you two books that are definitely going on my fright list!

The Walking Dead, saison 1

Just ignore them, they wouldn’t know good literature if it bit them in the… Oh.

I recently had an article published with Spectacle PMG in regards to two books they will be releasing to horrify and thrill their audiences.

You can read that article here!

The books are entitled Disturbing and Eat, and they are for lovers of ghoulish things everywhere!

Got a thing for zombies? You can purchase the unique tales of Eat here.

If you’re wanting something truly Disturbing, then go purchase a copy here.

And don’t forget to go and read my article! ‘Cause, y’know, it’s amazing. Duh.

Happy Halloween… try not to be too frightened.

“Truth or Share”

Scripts, TV

Love Raising Hope?

Screen Shot 2013-09-22 at 8.38.23 PM

Want to see an awesome, hysterical excerpt from a spec script?

If you answered “Yes!” to the above question, you should click here.

What happens when Wyatt tries to get Sabrina back?

What if Hope picked up more than genes from her grandparents?

What Could it Brie? This Stuff is Gouda.

Animation, Scripts


Ever wonder about life in a futuristic moon colony?

No? Why not? Get a fantastic example of writing for animation here.

Benalax needs to find the secret to human tastebuds to make the perfect cheese, and forced vegetarian chef Nu’Kard dreams of making a veggie dish that tastes like meat. Can they work together to solve their problems?

I Have a (Weird) Allergy

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I have a (WEIRD) allergy.

It’s true. It’s something that I’ve battled against since I was a little kid, before I knew that I should question what kind of wacky things my body was capable of. You know, the days when scabs were still cool, and comparing injuries to your friends was a way to pass the time?

Here’s a weird thing to say:

I am allergic to GARLIC.

 I’ll give you a second to let the vampire jokes come rolling in before I continue.


I’ve been dealing with this for years, if you couldn’t already tell.

As weird as it sounds, garlic allergies are absolutely despicable. And it’s not something that say, can be cured by eating more garlic and developing an immunity against it. (I would know—I’ve tried.)

It has varied over the years, but basically, I eat ANYTHING with garlic, and my body just decides it’s going to be a giant jerk, and erm… enthusiastically evacuates everything I’ve eaten that day. Everything. Nothing is safe from the wrath of garlic allergy fallout. Then I get what my fiancé affectionately refers to as “temptation blemishes,” which is just his way of telling me that I ate something I shouldn’t have eaten because now I’m covered in hives.

That’s nothing though. My lips, tongue and throat used to swell up when I ate it. I guess I should be glad I’m only getting hives and… other symptoms now.

And yes, sometimes I just decide I’m going to wreck my body later for the sake of having savory delicious foods now.

What can I say? Sometimes bad decisions are a sure thing when you’re hungry.

“Garlic is a weird allergy to have,” you say, “But I haven’t heard of it, so it probably isn’t that big of an issue.”

For one, I’d like to give you this face:


For two, I’d like to thank you for shutting up with all of that mess, because you need to take a look at something really near and dear to me: the ingredients list on the back of any food of your choice.

Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Whatcha got? Chips? Hummus? Pretzels? Meat? Chicken salad? Coleslaw? Lasagna? Hot dogs? Chances are it has garlic in it. Go ahead and peruse the shelves of your grocery store next time you go. Four out of five items that you look at on the shelves with have garlic listed somewhere in them. Imagine trying to order pizza. Chinese. Japanese. Vietnamese. Indian. Thai. Arabic. German. Italian’s out completely. BBQ? No way.

I will get random outbreaks of garlic allergy whenever I eat it. Now, imagine dealing with that everyday of your life. It’s really not fun, and my outbreaks can vary in severity according to how much I ate and even how it was in the food. Dried, powdered, chopped up into bits? Sometimes just smelling it can give me a headache and make me nauseous.


 Just looking at this picture makes me all kindsa queasy.

Regardless of however bizarre, it actually is a real issue with lots of people. To this day, I have ever only met one other person with a garlic allergy in real life. I read about lots of others on the Internet, so they must be real, right?

Anyone else have a weird allergy?

I’ll still say that a garlic allergy is harder to avoid than your typical shellfish/peanuts/lactose intolerances any day.

And I’d be right too. ‘Cause now it’s on the Internet. It must be true.


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Ever get a day where you are literally just two seconds away from punching someone in the teeth? I mean, you don’t even know what’s going on or who they are—they just come up and smile at you and their smile is so sickeningly cutesy that you just can’t take it and you feel your brain melting?

Yeah, I’m there.

I’d like to start by saying that sometimes, it feels like I’m on top of a unicycle, juggling throwing knives, and Life is the asshole on the sidelines who keeps throwing more at me while I’m frantically trying not to drop the ones I’ve got.

Also, I’m on a trapeze. And the knives are on fire. And there’s a clown standing directly below me, shouting things that I don’t understand. And then I remember that I hate clowns almost as much as I hate cockroaches, and then I realize that I’m thinking about cockroaches and now I have the heebie-jeebies.

What I’m saying is, it’s stressful.


Kind of like this, but I don’t think I can rock those pink shorts half so well.”


Okay, so you get the point.

I’m not the sort to deal well with injustice, but I’ve found that ever increasingly, businesses, schools, and (most of all) governments abide by this ideal that I can’t seem to understand.

That’s the ideal of: “We wanted to, so na-na-na-na-boo-boo”.

For those of you who read the “About Me” section on this page (which you should because it’s totally sweet), you’ll know that I’m currently attending school for creative writing, and I’m about two months away from graduating, which is exciting and also terrifying as HELL at the same time.  

I’ve recently run into those terrible people who make you want to run away and leave all of your hard work behind—people who have nothing positive to say, and try to tear you down at every turn. Unfortunately, one of those people is currently in charge of judging how well I completed certain materials. It’s ridiculously hard to maintain any sort of positivity, and I’ve recently started to feel like a P.O.W. from all of her dumbassery and cocksureness. 

I have been waiting almost five weeks for feedback on assignments. Compound that with my inability to wait patiently, and it’s a hot mess in my brain.


Okay, refreshing the page obsessively isn’t working—maybe I should try sacrificing a lamb next.”


Some days I literally feel like an aneurysm is patiently waiting outside my door like a Jehovah’s Witness and they’re not going away because they totally saw me peeking through the window to see who it was so they know I’m home. It’s difficult to work so hard for something and know that someone’s opinion—which isn’t any better or more important than mine—is the deciding factor between success and a less than savory outcome.

Stress is a lot like being drunk. It limits your ability to see past the present, it hampers your decision-making abilities, and it makes everything feel off-kilter. While it’s hard to go through patches like this, life is full of them. I’m just cruising through this one and biding my time until the next one rears its ugly head.

 That’s just what I’m gonna have to deal with.

A lot of times it feels easier to give up, go into hiding and change your name, but you never get better by not suffering adversity. That’s what being a human is, and it sucks, but it comes with some pretty neat rewards sometimes. We aren’t as delicate as we sometimes feel, and a little heat on us only makes us rise up to accept the challenge, or crumble in the face of it. Being poked can either provoke or annoy us (unless we’re being poked with a sword, in which case we start bleeding profusely), and it will either push us back or propel us forward. 

Regardless of my sense of injustice crying out; regardless of my agony at being put through a particularly rough patch, I’m going to try to use this as a means of growing, rather than faltering. I really feel like I just have to keep going forward, despite the difficulties because if I can turn this to my advantage, it means I win, and she loses.

Challenge accepted. >:D