There are a myriad number of things going on in my life that are all compacted in my brain, trying to organize them would be a humorous effort.

I miss writing. I haven't opened my paper journal in months and my creative need for outpouring was wasted on homemade magnets and crocheted things for Christmas that when it was time to do the thing that matters most to me, I was too tired. I keep bringing my journal with me to Jeff's house when I go to stay over and instead, I read a book. I bring it to work sometimes, and I surf instead of writing. I made a pact with myself to write every morning for ten minutes, but that has failed miserably. It never even started.

I think about my job and understand, immediately, that I will not be a caseworker forever. I know this. I continually remind myself that I want to do is be a writer. I want to write a book before I die. That simple. I said, while home for the holidays, that I'll pick up the new Writer's Market and send out two different stories to at least 25 different publications and hope for the best. I haven't done a thing yet. I did get paid today--so I can easily go to Borders or Barnes and Noble and pick up the 2003 Writer's Market and start with that. I can easily print out 25 copies of one story and then bring home 25 envelopes and write 25 brief cover letters and then just DO IT. They say I should research and see what kind of magazine/publication it is, but I just want to accomplish the goal of getting as many rejection letters as possible first. At least then, I can see the pile and know that I have tried--put in some writing effort. After all, I'm only a writer when I'm writing, and right now, no writing is being done. In moments like this, I feel incredibly motivated� but I get home and do nothing.

Yesterday was a strange day for me. I got home from work early--around 3:30. It was all a big lie, of course. I had an appointment scheduled for 3:30 and she wasn't home, so I went back to my office to be sure she didn't show up there. I had already signed out and stated I wouldn't be back that afternoon, so I just left and went to Wal-Mart to get a phone. Good thing I was getting paid today or else I'd be shit out of luck with no phone. I have one of those little $10 jobs, but it sucks! Example: I got home and unpacked my little phone (only $18--go Wal-Mart!) and saw that I had to let the battery charge for at least 20 hours before hooking it up to the phone line. I'm cleaning a big, did dishes. Then I read. Then I watch the Simpsons. Then I fall asleep at 7. I wake up briefly around 8:30 and think "Why hasn't Jeff called me yet?" It's been our habit to hear from each other as soon as one or the other gets out of work. And he had left that morning feeling very sick, so I expected to hear from him for an update on his sickness. I fell asleep again. Then I woke up at 10 p.m. and was thinking, "What the hell!?" I got up and lifted the cheap phone and heard NOTHING. So I pushed in the little wall jack thingy and tried again and NOTHING. Then I did it again and heard some static. I said, "Hello?" And Jeff's voice said, "What are you doing? Where are you? Are you okay?" He was worried sick about me. He even called friends! He was very sick.

Now I'm a big overt feminist. I'm not ashamed to admit this. But I don't mind ironing Jeff's shirts when he's running late, or making him soup and sandwiches when he's sick, or buying him medicine, or even (snigger, snigger), touching his penis when it's not in the mood. I love that stuff! My ex-boyfriends normally slapped my hand away or genuinely got upset if I reached for them the way most men have reached for me. I would think, "What guy doesn't like being petted once in a while?" Well. My ex-boyfriends, for four of them. But Jeff is NORMAL. Thank goodness for that.

Due to my wacky phone problem yesterday, I never got in touch with my little sister. I'm hoping she's doing okay and that she understands she has given Trooper a happier time of it now. I don't think a person or animal can be completely extinguished, in our existence or any other. The universe is huge and 70% of our brains are unchartered. There has to be something somewhere that gives us all a fighting chance. If anything, memory is eternal--whether we are sure we can always go back to it or not.

Take care, everyone. I have work to do now.