I know you guys are expecting some more artistic blog posts, and don't you worry, I'm writing one right now on why I FUCKING HATE NEWSLETTERS...
(I'll link it when it's finished. Right... here.)
But for now, just a quick update on my life in general in the last four weeks:
- I went to army training for some new hooah equipment
- I slept in the airport on the way to and from, next to people I've never met
- I got sick somewhere in there - not sure if it was the barracks or the airport that got me sick
- I felt like shit, and dry heaved a few times
- I texted my civillian boss ten minutes before I was supposed to come in
- They were upset
- My money from the army training came in
- I bought food and ordered typewriter ribbon online
- I was still sick
- I had to report for the weekend to my unit
- I felt like shit the entire time
- Without a car, that trip is a total of six hours travel time one-way, four on mass transit, and two on foot/ waiting at bus stops
- While at the Armory, my verizon phone stopped working, because I'm extremely late in my payments - I had set up a $100 per week payment system until I could pay off my bill
- I was still sick, and during PRT I really wanted to puke so I fell out and dry heaved a bunch
- I came home
- I slept thirteen hours
- My civillian employers kept trying to contact me, but I didn't recieve any of their text messages or voicemails
- I ran a bunch, and then got shin splints because my shoes were gifted to me and they're a size too small
- MY TYPEWRITER RIBBON CAME IN!!!!! :)
- I got back to writing my novel - it's so much easier when the typewriter isn't connected to the internet to write without distractions
- I slowly got better, and on Thursday, I slept for twelve hours
- I went into work on Monday - expecting to get back into the grind
- They fired me
- To me, I only missed four days of work - and I texted them I was sick with more notice than they had texted me before
- To them, I was "off the grid" and "unreachable" for three and a half weeks
- They had already replaced me
- The head baker said "What are you doing here?" and "I've already replaced you."
I said "OK. Can I have my last paycheck now?"
I got the paycheck, and then wandered around downtown looking for things to buy.
I found a 1915 Underwood typewriter in the thrift store for $145. I bought it for $65. And then I bought a cheeseburger, some coffee, and a raw sugar Coca Cola.
And then I was broke. So I took the transit home, unpacked the Underwood, dusted it off. I turned on some tunes, sat down at my Royal Standard (the best typewriter for bashing your head against when you're upset, and falling asleep on top of when you're working long hours), and finished Chapter eight.
Now, I'm listening to the song "Get Free" by Major Lazer, eating some cocoa pebbles, and churning out copy like nobody's business.
I think this might be the Universe's way of telling me that I should just finish this damn novel already, and worry about the money later. This is what I truly care about. This is why I got into the game, and I'm not turning away until it's done.
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