I’m having a mini pity party over here, for a few reasons:

1. The allergies that I thought I was having turned out to really be a…wait for it…cold. I’m not sick very often with something as little as the sniffles (thank you teacher immune system) but I’m prone to sinus infections. Let’s just hope that this one stays in the snot-and-kleenex category and not the doctor-and-antibiotic one. I know…total drama queen right? Reminds me of when my Simon used to call me Momma King (in place of drama queen) when he was a few years younger. Guess who taught him that? Thanks, hon.

2. I put on a shirt today that I haven’t worn in weeks and it wouldn’t button up. Uh oh. Got on the scale, and guess what? I’m the biggest that I’ve EVER been. Including when I was ten months (yes, ten months) along with my third baby. About FIFTEEN pounds bigger. I guess Not working + Eating whatever I want = Big Fat Momma. I now roll out of the car and get a tired back when I fold laundry. Sucky!

3. I’m the worst kind of writer because criticism and rejection cripple me into a self-induced writer’s block. It’s not that I am not able to write, it’s that I don’t want to. I’m like the rat who keeps hitting the electric shock bar. Sooner or later I’m going to stop doing it, right?

I was watching Ellen yesterday and Justin Bieber was on there. He was going on and on about Never Say Never, never give up. He makes it sound like he struggled all his life to live out his dream. He’s sixteen. I mean, come on. So I had to turn the television off.

I’ve written some of my favorite authors about their struggles with getting published and TWO of them posted that it took them EIGHT years. Now that is perseverance and patience at its best. Now they aren’t only published, they have awards and are national best sellers.

I wonder every day: will I always have the time/patience/financial stability that waiting eight years to make money from my writing entails?

*Sigh* Only time will tell. Now I better get off the computer and on to the treadmill.