Now that ‘woot’ has made it into the dictionary, I can safely use it without reprisals.

But the real purpose of this post is to share the news that my Etsy shop is now open and I’ve sold 9 buttons to 4 different people. Whee!

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• I wonder if I’ll ever be able to write a real post again. You know, something with content and detail and maybe even a plot.
• I have two proofreading assignments right now, both due within 2 days of each other. Yikes. That’s a lot.
• I got two new tires this morning at Les Schwab. The guy even ran out to greet me at my car, just like in the commercials. They’re awesome.
• I finished the first newsletter for Zonta of Everett, but I made a few boo-boos. Now I have to gain access to a certain laptop again at some point for revisions. I’d do it on my computer here, or any other PC, but I had to change a bunch of stuff so I could work on it on a Mac laptop, and now it’s all hopelessly screwed up for PC work. Macs are AWESOME.
• I can’t express in words exactly how badly I want my own laptop with the Adobe Creative Suite on it. I don’t need much. Just Adobe, and wireless internet, and Word. That’s it. But I have to wait until the crazy discounts Day After Thanksgiving. Boo.
• This computer is being twitchy and annoying today. Or maybe it’s just Facebook that’s doing that.
• My To-Do list for work is getting out of hand.

Sometimes I feel this overwhelming crushing sensation that’s partially in my head and partially in my heart. It feels like time is slipping by too fast, and has been slipping away pointlessly for some time.

It feels like I need to catch up, to get doing stuff Right Now, to make my mark on the world as soon as possible, but it also feels like it might be too late already.

Sometimes I get this feeling when I’m working at a show where the exhibitors have creative or crafty items. I see all the things they’re selling, and I see how they’ve done it — they’ve taken the plunge and are making and selling their Stuff. They had enough confidence to actually go out on a limb and make it happen. And I see things that I could have done myself, and things I wish I could do, and things I can’t believe people pay money for. And it makes me sad, because I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to ever make that leap.

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It’s become painfully clear that the November Experiment (aka NaBloPoMo) (aka Let’s Turn Something That Might Otherwise Be Pleasant Into a Daily Torture So Unbearable I Don’t Post Again For Two Months) was not an overwhelming success.

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Please be patient while my stuff gets moved over from the old site and this whole Wordpress things gets figured out.

Today is Day One of National Novel Writing Month, affectionately known by the crazies who attempt the lunacy of NaNoWriMo. I tried it once, a few years back, and it wasn’t pretty. The idea of writing 50,000 words during the span of a messed up month like November is just plain silly, let alone having to make those words all form together into coherent sentences that tell a story. So I’m instead using November as my own personal National Blog Posting Month. Read the rest of this entry »

I’m grumpy and restless and fairly certain I’m encountering PMS-land. I’ve been told I should write stuff down, get out everything that’s frustrating me, irritating me, worrying me, annoying me, angering me, and so on. But it seems as though all of my posts here have been negative. At least an unhealthy percentage of them. When I’m in a good mood, there are other things I’d rather do besides sit here and write. But when my mood goes south, all that’s left to do is whine about it.

But maybe I should try to put a more positive, hopeful spin on things. Write about what I want to be able to do, write about what I’d like to get sorted out and cleared up. That’s probably a better idea than just listing my complaints. It has an illusion of forward motion, anyway.

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All right, here I go. Throwing caution to the wind.

I have a few saved up blog entries, since I first decided to actually try to keep up a blog, but I’ve been too chicken to post any of them.

I mean, what if my writing is crappy? What if they’re full of errors? What if they offend someone?

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It’s terribly disenchanting to have to admit this, but I can’t write. It’s not a physical incapability. I mean, I have fingers to hold a pencil or peck away at a keyboard. I have a brain that thinks up lots of things I’d like to write about. In fact, that’s how I spend most of my daydreaming time — imagining all the topics I’d like to write about, all the subjects on which I’d be terribly qualified to educate the masses, all the twisted plots I’d like to see played out by Johnny Depp on the big screen. But for some reason, when I sit down to write, facing the blank screen or the empty page, unless I have a deadline and someone depending on me to write, all those wonderful thoughts and ideas start running in circles and leaping out of my ears onto the cold, hard pavement below. And I’m left with a mind that’s as blank as the screen.

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So I thought I was somewhat capable when it came to technology. I’ve smirked at the teachers who can’t seem to grasp the leap from Mac to PC, who go into a state of shock at the idea of a mouse with more than one button. I can do pretty much anything I need to do on a computer, or at least I thought I could. But now I’m in Internet-land, creation rather than navigation, and it is a very scary and lonely place to find yourself lost. I have been reduced to a tentative clicker, which is annoying. I have become the person who asks stupid questions which I could easily answer if only I had looked at the right part of the instructions. It feels somewhat like walking with cement shoes. On my feet and my hands. In a foreign country. And I’m deaf.

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