The day of the week that most things get done: tomorrow.
I am going to spend my tomorrow actually getting things done. (Although when it is tomorrow, I will be getting things done today. Not today, tomorrow. Got it?)
I've been putting off this 'real' writing long enough. I've done some research into different magazines that accept unsolicited work, some for free/copies of the publication, but most are actually for pay. I keep having these fantasies of writing something and making a lot of money. Just like the fantasies of being discovered at a karaoke bar and being offered a record contract. Doesn't happen, dude. Just doesn't. So I've resigned myself to the fact that I have to work at it to make it work. If I write magazine articles, whether or not I get paid, it's important that I get published. That gives me some sort of a resume. (Insert funky accent marks on the word resume so it sounds like reh-zoo-may and not ree-zoom.) If and when I have said resume, I have cred. If and when I have cred, someone is more likely to pay me. Or pay me more. Or pay me a lot. See, there I go getting ahead of myself again. I have my retirement mansion all picked out and everything, and all I'm really trying to say is, I'm getting up tomorrow and forcing myself to write and submit an article. I don't know what, or to whom, but it's going to happen. Tomorrow. (Which, if you're reading this tomorrow, is today.)
My cousin has cancer, for those of you who haven't been keeping up on the blog. His name is Johnny, goes by Toad, better known lately as The Fighting Toad. Please click on The Fighting Toad so that you can go to the website and donate to his team that's walking in the relay on July 10th. If you can be a part of the team, that would rock, too. But if not, donations are more than appreciated. Just find The Fighting Toad on the list and donate to his team.
I have more rollerderby conditioning tomorrow. They began doing it on Tuesday nights also, which doesn't work for me quite yet, but will in the future. I can only commit to one night during the week right now, and Thursday seems to be the best. I have my skates, but I need to get pads and a helmet sooner rather than later. I'm really surprised at how small the actual track is. I got used to skating around the entire roller rink for practice, and when they set up the track size, I felt like I was inside a 2-D hamster wheel. I guess that would make it a hamster circle. Either way, it was bizarre. It will take some getting used to. They're still looking for refs and coaches, male or female, so if anyone's interested, Google South Bend Roller Derby and get yourself on the list and start showing up. I recommend you get used to doing squats. It's exhausting if you only do them once a week!
In addition to reading "Let The Right One In", I also started something lighthearted. Bob Newhart's memoir, "I Shouldn't Even Be Doing This!". It's not as good as Steve Martin's was, but it's interesting. More interesting than entertaining. As much as I like Bob Newhart, I'm not a gigantic fan like I am of Steve Martin. I like it more for the history, and hearing about other celebrities that he was in contact with at the time. Now and then something strikes me as really funny, though. I loved the show "Newhart" which was the one where he and Mary Frann played the Loudens and owned a Bed and Breakfast in Vermont. I watched that religiously when it was on. Now that we have Netflix, I wouldn't mind re-watching those, but also watching "The Bob Newhart Show". I never saw a single episode of that, but I think I would really like it at this point in my life. I probably wouldn't have liked it back when I was enjoying "Newhart". I was a little too young to get the finer points of psychology.
Our oldest son has his first girlfriend. Siiiiiigggggh. And they're going to prom. Double sighhhhhhh. He's ecstatic. And I'm so happy for him. He's just... I don't know. So grown up. One second he's this little nine-year-old with thick glasses struggling to lift an 8-lb. bowling ball, and the next he's 6'0" with contacts staring down at me asking if he can borrow $100 for a tux and pay me back out of his paycheck. We're looking at colleges, planning for SATs, saving up money -- I can't help but rejoice that he's here with us, and we're sharing in all of this with him, and that he's turning out to be the kind of person he is. And on the inside, I'm going, "Prom!?!? YOU'RE NINE!!! Go play outside!!!"
It's funny how, wherever I am in the house, my dog has to be two feet away. Very silent, and two feet away. I think that she thinks she's a ninja. That I don't see her on the floor two feet away. That her husky pattern blends perfectly with the carpet pattern. Or, when I move to the bedroom in a little while, with the solid hunter green carpet. The little dog doesn't even make any pretense. If he could be surgically implanted in one of our body parts, he would opt to do so. He can't be as FAR as two feet away. I was typing on my husband's computer earlier, and his dog jumped up on my lap and laid his head across my right arm. WHILE I was typing. And closed his eyes. The ceaseless bouncing on my forearm did not dissuade him in the least. Absolutely no sense of personal space. It is a completely foreign concept to him.
Well, I'm going to read for awhile longer and then retire to get some rest so that I can WRITE tomorrow. Wish me luck. Maybe I'll be rich by next month?