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All content copyright 2010 by Chelsea Biondolillo. Seriously.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

365 days of being a writer: day 94

I haven't updated my knitting blog since September, but it gained a follower today. This blog gets updated every day, and still only has one. I think that's sort of funny.

My mind is like a teapot, and it is right now in that shimmering moment before the whistling starts. Picture: the pot seems to short of shake--but it's really just a sound, a radiative hiss--while bubbles begin to take shape on the bottom and sides, not yet popping to the surface. There is this pressure inside, like I need to scream, and I can't relieve it.

I am trying so hard to get up early enough to run, because that would help. But there's always something that keeps me up too late. So then I wake up late, and race through the bare minimum of that of what I need to do, already behind. And then I get home, and I want to catch up, but I am so exhausted that I just make shitty food and watch junky TV shows on hulu. I have no idea how to stop this cycle without withdrawing from the outside world even more completely.

In other news, Brevity sent me their rejection notice the day before yesterday. It ended up in my spam folder, delaying my receipt of the news. I thought all of the work that I sent out in the last three months was finished and ready, but I am especially fond of the mini-essay that they read. I am not even sure where else such a thing would belong. And I am sure that the fact that I feel exactly the same about myself is totally unrelated. Totally.

I've become self-conscious of the occurrences of the following words in these posts: I, but, so, also, and and. ANDbutsoalso, it really drives me up the fucking wall that I can not EVER remember how to spell the following words without spell check: occasionally, occurrences, occurred, desperately. There are a few others that hang me up, but those I almost always get wrong the first time. Did phonics do that to me? Did I lose the brain cells responsible for those words on an acid trip in the 90s?

Maybe I am allergic to my own weakness. This could just be a case of psychological hives. A fever-dream brought on by anaphylactic shock of the spirit.

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