I'm in such a depressed mood because of my car. I don't know if I need to be listening to the suicide song, "Un Bel Di", from Puccini's Madama Butterlfly. I have on a real opera cd this time called Amore II, Great Italian Love Arias. The cd features Puccini, Verdi, Donizetti and Giordana love arias. Listening to opera just suits my mood right now. Sigh ...

I'm the type of person, who gets depressed because of the little crises in life. The big stuff doesn't bother me; that stuff I can handle without blinking an eye. It's the little inconveniences in life, which send me over the deep end and make me wonder as I look out at a graveyard on my bus ride home, how nice it would be to lie dead in a coffin, free of this world and all its trials and tribulations.

I had a Scarlett O'Hara moment right afterwards too. I started telling myself, I'm never going to feel this poverty stricken again, I'm never going to have a life where I have to deal with BS like this again, I'm never going to whatever. Very melodramatic, I know. And then I told myself, I've faced worse than this at an age where I didn't have the brains or cognizance to cope, and I survived and survived pretty damned well too. I'm not going to let little things, like my car window breaking and me having to take public transportation to go home from work, bother me to where death seems like a nice option.

This has definitely been an eye-opening three weeks. First, the realization that a calorie restrictive diet does work and you know, isn't that bad. Secondly, how much I love that my clothes aren't tight and what a great feeling that is. Third, if I'm ever going to make it as a writer, I've really got to work my bunnies off. It's like I have this myth in my head, that everything comes very easy to me. And when I do a reality check, my myth about my life is so not true. I have had to work my tail off to get what I want in life. I mean, sure I didn't have to work as hard as some people, but I did work hard. I don't know why I keep lying to myself. Okay, so maybe I've had more than my share of fantasies come true, and I still believe fervently that I can get whatever I want. But so what! I've still had to work hard to make my fantasies come true. I'm just very interesting in having my fantasies come true, so I work hard at making sure they do. And yes, I still believe that life still turns out, god still loves of me, and it all works out, always for the better, all the time, in every way.

I bought the book, "Making a LIterary Life, Advice for Writers and Other Dreamers" by Caroylyn See. Reading her book made me realize that writing is working consistently day in and day out, week in and week out, year after year. Ms. See said she writes 1,000 words a day, five days a week. When I did the 50K word novel writing thing, I wrote 1,666 words a day for 30 days straight. 1,000 words a day, five days a week should be a breeze, shouldn't it? If I'm serious about being a writer, I've got to write, I've got to brush up on my grammar and take that copyediting online class next month. I've got to read more books and I've got to just be more focused on working every day on my writing.

Ms. See recommended either 1,000 words a day or 2 hours of editing. I really like her book. She's a no nonsense writer, and I totally relate to her alienating husbands (in my case boyfriends) with your writing. Like with Steve, the one that got away. He used to make comments when we were dating, about how much time I was spending either in writing class or writing group. Like my writing was robbing him of time I could have spent with him. Never mind that he travelled two weeks out of every month for his job, my writing was bad for our relationship because my writing was less important than spending time with him, and that I should accomodate my schedule to his, like his travelling schedule wasn't a problem for me too.

I know I definitely frightened screenwriting marina hottie boy with my writing. He made a comment to me, about how some writers get so focused on their art that they ignore everything, hint, hint. Such a weird statement coming from him, considering he also wrote and spent a considerable amount of time at it himself. I don't blame him though. I definitely considered him a distraction when I first met him, a distraction I couldn't afford to have. But it all worked out that I ignored him, because he turned out to be much too wild and crazy for my blood.