Having one of those days when I'm feeling really sad and angry. As you know, I'm pretty forthcoming when it comes to openly discussing my life on the Internets. I really don't care who knows the majority of my personal business. But there is a short list of things I simply don't discuss, mainly because it involves either a relationship or a history with another person with whom I'd like to maintain at least some semblance of a relationship. Well, some of those things are bothering me extra muchly today, and I don't have my usual outlet of telling you fine people about it, or basking in your loving, supportive, and honest feedback.
So there's that.
I'm also on a super tight deadline for a short story. If my pants were as tight as this deadline, I'd buy a new fucking pair already. Of course I should be writing right now; but I'm not because I have to get some of this nervous anger energy out of my system before this story becomes an Ajaesque bloodbath. That's not really what this anthology is looking for. I know I complain often that I'm not famous enough yet and I want to quit my day job and have every horror fan on earth know who I am and what I do. And I know I can't remotely reach that goal by sitting around NOT writing. But damn, deadlines stress me the hell out. Because I know the morning after I submit I'll remember some really amazing thing I forgot to put in that I now can't edit and will totally ruin the story for me emotionally.
A while back, I was talking about my unsightly forehead scar
. I've had it pretty much forever...but wait! Because it wasn't always huge and dark and blotchy like it is now. I didn't actually realize that until I was looking at old pictures. I was talking about it on the Facebook, and a few people said I should get it looked at. It's of an irregular size and shape, with non-uniform edges. It's changing both color and shape over time, and contains several different colors. Plus, according to what I know about my family history, we are a cancerous people.
Some half-assed internet research leads me to believe that it is indeed, Cancer
. Luckily, most skin cancer is not the deadly kind, but if one does happen to get the deadly kind--it is aptly named, because you are pretty much fucked. Now that I realize that my attractive portal of love and light is actually a hideous cancer, my first impulse is to start covering it up with makeups. I feel embarrassed and ashamed by it now. I am not quite clear on the emotional process that's making me feel that way, but it's there. I'm waiting to hear back from the PHClinic to see if I have to come in before they can give me a referral to a dermatologist or whatever. I'm hoping I can avoid racking up a bunch of giant co-pays. But if what I've heard is true, even minor cancers are goddamn expensive to deal with.
As of today, I vow the following:
finish this new zombie book before I shuffle off this mortal coil (yes, that is a premature declaration because I have NO IDEA what kind of cancer this is or what could potentially happen) even if I have to quit my day-job to do it.
--If I have to end up with a forehead scar, I'm gonna go full-out Harry Potter with it. That's just how I roll...
--If I *do* have cancer, you are ALL expressly forbidden to refer to me as "brave." You may, however, refer to me as awesome, witty, beautiful, hilarious, delightful, or the most exciting horror writer of our times.
--This year's birthday bash is going to be really, super badass. Some of you faraway types might want to consider making the trip to MI. It's the Saturday after thanksgiving.
Alright, back to the writing I go...