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Why I'm not writing right now.
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.
*sigh*
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:
--I will 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...
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.
*sigh*
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:
--I will 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...
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I don't think I've ever had a good experience at St Joe's, so U of M sounds like a much better idea. Last time I was at St Joe's, they asked me what religion I was to fill out some form. And I said "pagan?" *blank stare* "PAGAN" I say, loud and clear even though I tend not to broadcast such things in public. She still didn't get it even after I spelled it for her. I get that it's unusual, but for fuck's sake, if she asks that question as a function of her job, somebody must have said it to her at one time or another.
I think the most annoying thing about it currently is that H won't even discuss it because "we don't know anything yet."
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Yeah, my experience at St. Joe's dermatology department starred an intern or resident or some such who seemed reluctant to actually touch what she was examining, and she generally acted if I was a body part rather than a person.
For the cancer screening at U of M, they looked me over, determined it likely wasn't cancerous, but gave me a thorough looking over and took pictures of anything that looked remotely suspicious for comparison later.
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Just so we're clear, a few months back I had a cough with a slight fever and discoloured snot. The internet told me I had cancer.
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;-]
Yeah, I should know better than to google-diagnose myself. It may just be that the internet doesn't know as much as a team of people who actually went to medical school--but none of them were here when I wanted the information.
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I'm gonna miss you, man.
Seriously, point taken.
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I would bet that either way they're going to remove it, because the only way to know is by biopsy. So yeah, full-on Harry Potter. ;-) Or maybe a nice set of Zombie-esque stitches tattooed over it. Okay, I am kidding about the latter.
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Really? Because now I'm seriously thinking about it...
;-]
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I've google-diagnosed myself so many times, and every time it's been something terrifying. I'd like to think I've stopped doing that to myself, but it's like an addiction--it's so easy to fall.
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Methinks I'll have to investigate that.
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And if you ever want to call me to talk about some of the other stuff you don't like to post about, I'm a pretty good listener. And I'm home most of the time. Do you have my number?
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Feel free to Email it to me.
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Oh, Wednesday, quit being such a drama queen. I've got skin cancer on both sides of my family. One one side it's mostly benign, and one side it's so malignant it's not even funny. But it's not, like, bone cancer-deadly. My grandpa's been getting malignancies shaved off his face since I was a little girl, and he still summers in Mazatlan every summer. *eyeroll* Stupid git.
Seriously, I hope it's nothing, but it probably is nothing, and even if it's something it'll probably still be fine.
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And you know, the more I think about getting the Harry Potter scar, the more I like the idea. There's only one other person I can think of with an intentional forehead adornment, and I don't think the Mansonesque swastika is really the way to go. ;-]
The stats I read on it were that 97% of skin cancers are easily to deal with and almost never life threatening, but that other 3% will fuck you up old school.
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Definitely a good idea to get it checked out, though.
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Yeah, I'm waiting to hear back from the doc for a referral.
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