It's Autumn. My Mum has Seasonally Affected Disorder (S.A.D), and ME. She's in bed after attempting to get up and get dressed this morning.
After a tip off and many crossed fingers, three drafts of over one hundred thousand words, f*ck knows how much in postage and printer cartridges, and attempts at striking up a personal relationship with an agent, I'm back at square one, staring at a glowing screen.
Polishing the already polished, but admittedly not perfect, manuscript that has become almost nemesis-like in proportions.
I want to work on my new projects. This is heartbreaking.
Matt was a good guy, and now he's dead.
Simple really, in text form.
Put all this in with the harshness of a world where everyone is fighting for themselves and their own needs and wants and stuff everyone else, where people are people and nothing is perfect and things are fading into darkness of dot dot dot...
Nothing is changing and it is changing too fast. I am powerless and hating it, but wanting to stay that way because once you have a little power all that matters is the next step, the next promotion, the bigger salary, the hugeness of ego and personal assertion.
I am not a rat, but I'm at the starting line of the rat race with nothing else to do today.
Help.
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