Halloween Let-Down

Well it's Halloween night and I'm sitting here in my Hit Girl costume writing a post. This was a really lame-o Halloween weekend. I guess I only have myself to blame. I should have arranged something long before-hand so that I wouldn't be able to back out at the last minute. (Sometimes the only way for me to get out and socialize is to trick myself, you see).

This weekend I pretty much just let V take the lead. Which meant spending Friday night with his sister in the Den of Smoke because it was her birthday weekend, going to his friend's house afterwards (Den of Smoke #2) and sitting around with a beer watching boys play video games, stopping in on the pseudo-in-laws again the next day for cake, and then doing nothing Saturday night. I will take the blame for Saturday night. V wasn't in the mood to do much it seemed, and usually it is his friends who have a party, but this year nobody did. I had a few options and I backed out of each one with the excuse that I would just feel awkward and out-of-place. I need a little push if I'm going to do something social like go to a party, and V was in a mopey mood so he didn't even try.

So today I thought we would take his friend's daughter trick or treating but that didn't happen. So I suggested we go to this crazy haunted house event geared to teens and adults. No kids allowed, so I'm sure it would have been freaky as Hell, but we didn't do that either. So basically, after handing out candy, we just went out for dinner in our costumes.

I was so proud of my costume this year too. I guess I could always use it for next year.

Because there's always next year. Right?

The Writer's Book Closet

I have a blog, but it's a secret blog. I like the anonymity of it. I can talk about work, and friends and the boyfriend and his monster family. I can vent. And I do. Probably too much. It is perhaps even the reason why it seems nobody reads the damn thing. I have a blog, but it's not fully satisfying, and I realize it's because, despite the fact that I like the anonymity of it, I also want something that I don't have to keep secret. I crave a place where I can talk about my writing and connect it to my self, my real self, not my MaryPoppins self. And so, I'm considering starting a new one.

I think I might try out a new site. I want it to be interesting, have pictures, have video and all that jazz, but I am severely and hopelessly technologically challenged. And since I have the attention-span of an Aphid on meth, I'm not too keen on sitting myself down and trying to master it, you know?

I think about starting this new blog, and then I become all insecure because, if there's no interest in this anonymous blog, why would anyone want to read a blog from the perspective of the real me, or rather the public me? I don't have any specialized knowledge about anything (which is quite the accomplishment in and of itself considering the amount of education I have), I don't really lead an interesting life, and most of all, I will feel all exposed.

I want to blog about my writing. I want to come out of the writer's book closet, because up until now, there's only a handful of people that I have told about my book writing adventure. (On that note, I am 60% through my second draft, and wow is it tedious. But more on that later.) Over time, I've bashfully admitted to more and more people, that I have a "little hobby". I try to downplay it as much as possible in order to hide its importance to me. In order to hide the fact that I've wanted to be a writer since I was about seven years old. That I actually am writing a book, and it's a fantasy novel. That yes, once I am finished, I will try to have it published. And why do I want to hide these facts? Because I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed for thinking it's even a possibility. Embarrassed for being a cliche, for being one out of a billion people that wants to write a book. Embarrassed for having something I still daydream about. Embarrassed that I'm still a completely lost soul. Embarrassed to be me.

Coming out of the writer's book closet means exposing myself, letting people in, showing them who I am. And that scares me to death.

And that is why I have to do it.

One Page Per Day?

So I heard about this neat little program from Twitter. It's called "One Page Per Day". You sign in with your Google or Twitter account and it presents you with one blank page for you to fill in a day. I'm curious what options there are once we have filled the page or finished the book. Is it easy to transfer the files to something that we can edit and use? I've decided to give it a try.

I'm at work (and so loving it as you can probably tell by the way I'm doing something completely irrelevant to my job), and there's a box of Timbits sitting seductively in front of me on my desk. My co-worker bought them for me on her lunch break in order to cheer me up. Or, here's another theory: said co-worker, who is very much aware that I would love to lose weight and be a healthier version of myself, is actually trying to sabotage my efforts. Yes, that's right folks, I have reached a new level of paranoia.

I would welcome a snack break (even though I just had lunch, and McDonalds at that), but the emails that bombard my inbox keep me here (mostly) with my eyes glued to the screen that slowly but ever so surely sucks the life out of me.

This filling the page thing is harder than it seems. I think I'll take a break, check some emails, do my actual job, you know, fun stuff!

Cakeless

So it's happening again - It's October. My birthday is this weekend and I am turning 33, (not 34 like previously stated in one of my posts and oh my God I am already going senial).

It's Friday, and I have no plans for my birthday, which I kind of prefer but it is also kinda making me sad. There wasn't even a work-cake for me today, unless they are waiting until Monday? It's not like I enjoy the spectacle of having a cake at work and doing a really sad-ass job at cutting the pieces, but I do feel that my lack of a birthday celebration is depriving my fellow co-workers of some well-deserved sugary-goodness, dammit.

I can't wait to leave work today (there is 15 minutes to go!) but not having any plans is making me a little anxious. Chances are pretty good that doing something for my day will be just another obligation - punishment for living another year if you will - most likely, an evening spent with the pseudo-in-laws. Oh, life is grand.

But maybe, just maybe, this year will be different,and good times will be had. Stranger things have happened, right?