Burned. Out.

Hi.

Haven't seen you for awhile.

I don't really understand why, but blogging has sort of fallen by the wayside over the past few months. It doesn't really take that much time to write a blog, yet it keeps feeling like more time than I have.

In life news, as you've probably heard, the book that Sam and I have written is being published, by a small independent publisher called Inquisitive Books. It's exciting! And a LOT more work than I anticipated.

I'm burned out.

You have to understand, I've been working on the same story for over a year. I was looking through my notebook yesterday, and we started writing this book last July. That's not even counting all the brainstorming and worldbuilding and everything that came before. Granted, we've taken breaks from it. But there have been no other books in the meantime. I've been working on the same characters, the same plot, in the same world, for 16+ months.

For me, that's an eternity.

I'm tired. I'm tired about thinking and rethinking the same plotlines, the same characters. The revisions that we've done are good, they have improved the story. But I'm tired. I'm three-quarters the way through revisions, and I'm done. I've had it. I'm ready to hand it over to our editor and call it quits. I'm going to tell him so, and see what he says!

Originally I'd planned to write Book 2 for NaNoWriMo this year. But there's no way. I need a break. First of all, I'd do a really sloppy job with it, and probably end up scrapping most of it anyway. We're not prepared for it in the least. And I'm just tired of the whole thing. I need a break, I need to work on something light and fun so I can refresh before coming back to this story.

This book is supposed to be released late this year. All along I've thought that was optimistic, and it seems further away every day. I'm losing my grip. I really do believe that some space, a break, would help rejuvenate me so I could finish the revisions strong. But I don't know if I have that luxury!

Urg.

I hate airlines, airports, airplanes, et cetera and so forth

Travel log:

7:30am EST. Woke up. Immediately panicked, as my flight left at 7:05am EST.
7:31am EST (5:30am MST) Called Mom. Mom said, stop panicking, pack your stuff and start driving, I'll call the airport. (God bless my ever-patient and loving mother.)
8:00am EST. Started driving. Mom called to say she had put me on a flight at 11:10. Started driving faster. (They charged $59 to put me on that flight--the money panic set in.)
9:45am, I took a wrong turn.
10:00am I realized I had taken a wrong turn. Tried to call my mother, but I had no reception. When I reached the END OF THE ROAD (major panic) I turned around.
10:05am stopped at a gas station for directions. The guy laughed at me.
10:15am got back on the correct highway. Started speeding really bad.
10:30am started looking for gas stations so I could refuel my car. Couldn't find a gas station within 10 miles of the airport.
10:45am Mom told me to suck it up, pay the ridiculous price of refueling by the car rental company, and just get myself to the airport.
10:55am FINALLY the Hertz shuttle took us to the airport.
11:00am The Delta guy at the self-service kiosk would NOT let me see an agent at the desk until I had at least tried the self-service kiosk. This guy was a retard. He kept telling me to take my time, calm down, and he'd 'work the magic' on the self-service kiosk.
11:05am the self service kiosk sure didn't work, so the Delta guy finally let me get in line for an agent.
Now, there was one girl working the desk. Two other guys were just standing there talking. I'm sure it was only five minutes or so, but it felt like five HOURS. I even heard her say, "Gee, am I working here alone today?" They laughed, finally finished talking, and one guy meandered over to the desk. He clicked away at his computer and finally asked if he could help me. (I had totally lost it; I was balling my eyes out.)
11:10am He determined that I couldn't make my flight (no duh, you stupid--). He told me at that point that there wasn't another flight leaving for SLC until 9:00pm. Obviously, the water works were flowing. He was like, "Ma'am, I can't possibly help you when you're crying like this. You need to stop crying." Then he looked around and called out, "Could somebody get me a box of tissues please?" That didn't actually help very much. Anyway, he decided there might be another option (click clack at the computer for another AGE). Then he said there might be a flight, but he couldn't confirm it for another fifteen minutes, so I should go sit down, take deep breaths, and come back.
11:20am Texted Melissa, Anna, and called my mother--who didn't answer--and tried with some success to calm down.
11:30am back up at the counter, the guy got me tickets (yay!) that still wouldn't get me home until about 9 (boo) but at least I wouldn't be leaving AT 9. Furthermore, since I had told him I missed my flight because I had gotten lost (and probably out of fear of the waterworks) he was able to get the fee waived, so they didn't charge me all over again for this new flight (hallelujah!) Then with a condescending smile he said, "Now, don't miss this one!" (Jerk!)
11:45am got through security (blah) and found my gate. Went to the bathroom and washed several hours worth of tears off my face.
Waited.
1:30pm Boarded my plane.
2:00pm Finally left Philadelphia.
4-something pm, landed in Atlanta. Traversed the airport, got a wrap at the same place the parentals and I had wraps on our NYC trip.
6:00pm boarded my plane. Got stuck between a grumpy dude who took over the armrest and never ever relinquished his claim, and a hippie lady who drank nasty-smelling tea and kept laughing really loud at the movie I wasn't watching.
8:30pm MST, landed in SLC. HALLELUJAH!!!
9:00pm, went to visit my grandmother in Bountiful because she'd been planning on seeing me, when I was supposed to have been coming into town at 10 AM and still wanted to see me. I swear, I was so dead, I'm not really sure what we even talked about.
10:30pm, made it home. Unpacked my contact case and my pajamas, cuz that's about all I could handle right then.


I'm now going to pretend that the whole thing didn't happen. I went to sleep in Pennsylvania on Saturday night, and woke up at home this morning. Sunday didn't exist. =P

Also, if you'd like to hear more about my actual experience while in Pennsylvania rather than the debacle of getting home, check out my other blog.

You want me to kick that target after spinning how many times? Are you freaking kidding me?

Taekwondo was discouraging. I'll explain why.

In some ways, coming back to Taekwondo was like starting afresh. You start at this place of "I suck". (just go with me here) You look around at everybody else and see how amazing they are, and you think to yourself, "boy, I really need to work harder."

So you work harder. You start to improve. You like that, so you work even harder. You continue to improve. Things start feeling good. You start to feel like you're getting it. You're excited, because you feel like you're accomplishing something. You're progressing. You even start to feel like you're good at it.

Your instructors notice. They decide to push you harder.

And you go straight back to "I suck." The instructors ask you to do more, to do harder things, to do things you've NEVER done before. The others around you start looking like giants again--like they can do things that you can never, ever, ever do. Your instructors ask you to perform, and you feel like it is an impossible task. You feel like you suck.


Now, the response to this is...that's right--work harder. But after getting to that point of "man, I feel great, I'm so on top of this shiz," it's pretty hard to go back to feeling like a wreck again. Don't worry--I'm going to get back on the horse and work harder again. But tonight I just want to wallow for a little while.

Tomorrow...I'll get back to trying Nadabon (spinning roundhouse kick)-->360* jump spinning hook kicks.
X-p

Success after much frustration

Yesterday I finished my revisions while at work and at home I sat down to submit mein buch to the ABNA. However, upon opening the file I had emailed home, I was horrified to discover that it didn't contain any of the revisions I had worked on. I had a coworker search my work computer, but nothing--50 pages of work, gone.

It turns out that I had saved my work to a temp file instead of my documents, and the version I emailed was not the one I had been working on all day. When I shut down my computer and went home, the temp file was erased and my work vanished.

This only re-emphasized my absolute hatred for PCs.

At any rate, I spent today re-doing the revisions and adding finishing touches. And as of 12:40am, I submitted my novel "Traitor Defiant" to the contest. Now there's nothing doing but to wait until the middle of march when the quarterfinalists are announced.

Woot! for submitting my novel, but grr! to stupid computers. Argh! to the revision process (which never really ends) but yay! to being done for now. And now dear friends, good night.

The Plague

I just despise being ill. It's such a waste of time! A colossal, monumental waste of time. Sure, I enjoy the sympathy. I enjoy being babied a little by those around me, particularly when I can plead successfully with my mother to get Chinese. Oh yes, these are the perks. And just about the extent of them, because my friends, being sick is just about the most miserable thing on the face of the planet. I have spent the last three days feeling like my head is going to explode at any moment, and sometimes it does in the form of violent sneezes, while the rest of the time I'm so stuffed up I can't hardly breathe. Sleeping is a joke--I spent half my time trying to breathe, and the other half failing to breathe, and the entire time being completely uncomfortable and generally miserable. And this is just a common cold! I've never really had any terrible illnesses, but thank you ma'am, this is well enough for me! Guh!

Catharsis

Today has really sucked at work. We lost a HUGE account yesterday, and it was in big part me and my coworker's fault, and we got not only a critical email from the CEO, but also had to go in and have a meeting with him about what we can change and do better in the future. In addition, it's been declared a Stupid People Day. We have one every couple of weeks, when it seems that all of the most concentratedly stupid people decide they all need to call in on the same day and make us miserable.

And so today I find myself drinking Dr. Shasta (which is in no way an acceptable replacement for Dr. Pepper, but is provided by the company for my consumption, so I can't really complain), and listening to my new cathartic treatment: a dose of symphonicky metal with female and other interesting vocalists. ie Nightwish (which happens to be a favorite of my pops), Within Temptation, Evanescence, and even a little bit of DragonForce (the song I really like of theirs being, of course, "Through the Fire and Flames". All the others sound the same.) God bless Pandora!

I'm also trying to work on my novel, but one of my protagonists is putting me through hell, and I don't know what to do with him. So if anybody has any random thoughts concerning my tremulous plotline, I would certainly appreciate them. You wouldn't believe from what I can pull my muse!

An Indulgence

Normally I try to avoid using this blog to "rant", though I'm not sure how often I succeed, and I certainly try to avoid just simple complaining. I don't enjoy reading complainer-blogs, and I doubt you do either. And yet, tonight I beg you to indulge me in a rant-like question.

Why are boys oblivious? And why at such inconvenient times?

I haven't been frustrated like this in a long time--probably because I haven't really liked a guy for a long time. Which isn't to say I really like a guy now, merely to say that these old feelings are resurfacing, and I find them as equally frustrating as I did the last time I experienced them.

I mean, a girl likes a guy, she flirts with him pretty obviously, and yet...no response! What's a girl to do? He's not interested--not that he's unfriendly, quite the opposite! too much friendship and not enough of a little something else. Something more special.

Why? Why are women thus so plagued?

Thank you. Rant completed.

Eagle Eye review, includes spoilers

I went to see "Eagle Eye" on Saturday with Melissa. As we entered the theater and sat down, we realized that neither of us really had any idea what the movie was about, except that it had Shia LaBeouf in it. I rather enjoyed the lack of expectations for the movie.

It took me about half the movie to really get into it. Jerry Shaw's backstory was vaguely interesting, but it lacked emotion through his brother's funeral and the confrontation with his father. Once the interaction began with the FBI and Air Force, there was a definite Matrix-feel. It was relatively surreal, where it felt like they were going for something more realistic. Until the woman on the phone was revealed to be a computer, I simply couldn't believe in the things that were happening.

Once that reveal occured, I was able to go along with the plot a little easier. However, it never really gained the reality I think the makers were hoping for. There was just too much. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed all the things that ARIA was able to manipulate, I enjoyed the various things that were under her control, I simply didn't believe it in a realistic sense. It was science fiction.

A note on the relationship. The character of Rachel was obviously too old for LaBeouf's character Jerry. They tried to age him, giving him an older backstory and a scruff-edgy look. However, he simply isn't old enough yet. He has the face of a 22 year old, whereas Rachel was obviously in her late twenties, with a seven or eight year old son. And furthermore, the relationship was mostly plutonic throughout the film, with only hints of a romance. This leads into my discussion of the climax and ending.

I thoroughly enjoyed the climax of the film, when Jerry gets shot. It was perfect, the absolute pinnacle of his character and motivation. Of course he would offer himself as a sacrifice. After everything that happens, after every we learn about his brother, after everything HE learns about his brother, and all the growth he experiences through the film, it was the most wonderful emotional climax for an audience watching this character.

However.

He should have died. After watching Jerry get shot a half dozen times or so, the next image is a funeral photograph of LaBeouf in military blues with a flag. I'm thinking, "Yes! The government recognized him, his dad can be proud." The next shot after that? Jerry, standing by his father, at a service honoring his brother--AGAIN. He lived. He survived half a dozen bullets in the chest and back. I mean, unless he secretly had a bulletproof vest that we didn't see him put on, that just doesn't seem real plausible to me. The cops thought he was a terrorist at that point, so it's not like they would have rushed him to emergency care. And yet, he survives just fine, and his brother gets honored AGAIN. We get the idea that MAYBE his dad can be proud, but who knows?

And then they tie up the subplot with Rachel, as Jerry kindly remembers her son's birthday and brings him an expensive present (which he afforded HOW?) and she thanks him for not being as crappy as her ex-husband and kisses him gently on the cheek. Romantic? Maybe. Better than a full-on kiss on the lips, but still Cop-out.

I was there, man. The emotions were there when Jerry got shot, and then I was really excited with the funeral pic, exulting in a true dramatic Hollywood choice. If he had really died, I probably would have cried. I was there. But then he didn't. They spoiled it. It was such a cop-out! For a full day after seeing the movie, Melissa and I kept turning to each other randomly and saying "He should have died!" They could have tied off Rachel's story somehow else, and left Jerry at a dignified, truly honorable place. But no, now he has to go on and live up to that climax for the rest of his miserable life. Lame.

Perhaps I am simply too cynical. But I don't believe in happy endings. I believe in REAL endings, and if you really earn a happy ending, good for you. But real doesn't always mean happy, and I wish that sometimes--just sometimes--Hollywood would stick true to that. I think their movies would be more meaningful, if nothing else.

Can't we all get along?

I've been witnessing some unsuspected discrimination at work over the last few days.

Political discrimination.

Now, of course political debates are heated. Of course people disagree. Of course people argue when their political views differ. But I've never before witnessed discrimination based solely on political views.

Last week, one of my coworkers wanted a stamp, and the office manager wouldn't give him one because he intends to vote for Barack Obama. It was almost that simple. She had the excuse of not giving him company property for personal use, but down and simple, she wouldn't give him the stamp because of who he's voting for. I call that prejudice and discrimination.

Today, one of the programmers was RAILING against Obama, slandering his policies, and shouting for the entire office to hear that people who vote for Obama are idiots. He knows that I'm voting for Obama, as does the office manager, who just as loudly agreed with him. Again, I call that discrimination.

I find it bizarre. Of course, who you vote for matters. Of course who becomes President matters. But I don't think it should matter on a day-to-day level, so that people feel uncomfortable around each other, so that business is interfered. I've been discriminated against before, but never for this. Teased, yes. Mocked, yes. Mildly ridiculed, yes. But always in a way that I still felt proud to be a Democrat, that I still felt like I could stand up for my beliefs.

Today, I felt ashamed, belittled, and degraded. Last week, I felt the same way for my coworker who just wanted to mail a letter. This shouldn't happen. Not over this. Our political party system is flawed, but it took me 22 years to discover how much so.

The Injustice of it all!!!

There are thirty pages missing from my new book.

I bought The Well of Ascension on Friday. It's the sequel to Mistborn: The Final Empire, both by Brandon Sanderson. Fantastic series, by the way. I spent twenty dollars of my hard-earned graduation money on a pristine hardcover edition. I've been reading it avidly. So I'm in bed, it's 11:00 at night, I'm nearing the end of this huge battle where many of my favorite characters are being hewn down and suddenly, the words aren't making sense--how did that character make a six-day journey to suddenly be in the middle of a nonsensical conversation that has nothing to do with what was just happening? And then, I look down at the page numbers. (By the way, I'm not a huge fan of numbering at the bottom of the page.) I'm missing thirty pages in the middle of the climax! I'm aghast--I flipped back and forth, trying to discover if they had been misplaced, but no! The signature was repeated twice, meaning the thirty pages were replaced by the following signature, then repeated in its proper position. There couldn't have been a worse thirty pages to miss. Of course I read on, but the climax of the book was absolutely ruined. All the leading action, the tension, lost, and now I can't even recreate it, because I already know how it ends. Sort of. I'm so angry.

I'll probably go to B&N at some point, see if they have an unadulterated copy, see if I can make an exchange for my defective book. I don't know what their policy is. At any rate, if I can find a clean copy, at least I can read what I missed. So. Incredibly. Frustrating.

Dude...not cool.

At Sea World last Monday, I got sunburnt.



This photo should help demonstrate--please observe the lines, the redness. Oh yes, very burnt.

Here we are, over a week later, and it still hurts. My arms are a lot better (although still peeling) but the burn on my chest is still excruciatingly painful.

Now, it's my own fault. I take full responsibility. I didn't put on sunscreen, and I wanted to get burnt--just not this bad. Besides the fact that I thought we had aloe vera with us at the time. Nope. And there was none to be found at the grocery store or the little hotel store. You'd think, in sunny California of all places, that they would have loads of the stuff. Nope. None.

But I would also think, a week later, that it would have gone away by now. That upon coming home, I would be able to relax and put some goo on it that would help. But alas, poor unfortunate soul that I am, the curse of Sea World is still upon me, and it makes me angry.

Word to the wise: wear sunscreen. Your potential tan just isn't worth it.

Ammendment to "Waiting"

I spend almost two hours at the eye doctor's today, and I'm so irritated! I seriously waited an hour and a half before even being called back. Then I got some nasty eyedrops and sat waiting another fifteen minutes before the doctor finally deigned to see me. He looked at my eyes for about two minutes, then spent another five lecturing me about how this was a normal situation, a normal bodily process that they didn't fully understand, blahdeblah. I sat there thinking, "Okay, would you shut up now and let me leave?" Then, finally, he did, and I did.

It was so irritating! To wait so long just for that, I was infuriated. Of course I didn't want anything to be wrong, but it makes me mad that they were so overbooked that it took two hours to get five minutes' worth of his precious attention. They really should do a better job of scheduling their appointments. Note to all: learn how to manage your time! Whether personally, or for your business, or whatever.

Freaking doctors. Grr.

Over-complicating

I think I've mentioned before how much I want a dog. I just really love dogs. The last couple of days, I've really wanted to go walking, but I've always disliked walking alone. It makes me feel ridiculous. I don't really like walking with other people, either. I like walking with a dog.

In answer to this conundrum (word courtesy of Melissa), it occurred to me: Maybe I could go down to the Humane Society and see if they'd let me walk a dog! Or maybe three! (not all at once, mind you, that would be a little much.) At any rate, I hopped on their website to get their address and ended up poking around. Would you believe that you have to be a registered volunteer to walk the dogs? And in order to become one, you have to go through an orientation process--the next one being at the end of April!! I would have to wait a whole month to walk a dog!

I'm not a crazy person. I'm not going to steal the dogs. If I could adopt a dog, I would. I would make the investment and take one home. But my landlord doesn't allow pets, and besides, my roommate is afraid of dogs of all sizes. I just want to walk a dog. But I'm not allowed, because I haven't sat through a three-hour session on how to walk dogs. This is far too complicated!

HATRED ABOVE ALL HATREDS!!!

I HATE MATH. I hate it. I hate it so much, it makes me cry, it makes me want to tear out my hair and claw out my eyes! I HATE math!

I am crying. Seriously considering how much I really need my hair.

I'm supposed to be done! It's supposed to be over! My friends are celebrating "our" graduation, but now I've got this terrible thing hanging over my head. I mean, the fear and anticipation of this fate were looming before, but now it's real. Tangible. I feel dirty.

I've never failed before. I've never failed a class before. I got a C+ in...wait, can you guess? Algebra 2 in tenth grade. It was the last math class I ever took, before this one.

I'm so FRUSTRATED. I despise myself. I hate the pity...my mother, cooing over me about how unfair it is. Well, no, it's perfectly fair. It's MATH, after all--the numbers crunched, and all my points added up together just didn't make C-, it made D+. Such a great heaving difference between those two, I can tell you.

Oh, and to top it all off? I finally heard back from DC--no go. So it's back to applying, applying applying.

Life sucks.