I keep thinking. This can't be a good thing.

I keep wanting to try and write a romance of some kind. Dreamspinner, Samhain, or LooseId look like viable options for this. And I have ideas that could work for each one. For Dreamspinner I have any number of ideas for gay romances, mostly with mystery/suspense plots. For Samhain I've got a few supernatural ideas. For LooseId I've got some porny/sexy ones.

The trick is to write them now. I shouldn't think about what everyone in my life would think if I did write those, should I? I mean, if I manage to sell one to LooseId, what would my mother think?

I worry way too much about what other people think. But it's harder to ignore it when they're in the same house as me...

I keep trying to tell myself that I need to worry about first writing them, then finishing them, then polishing them, then selling them. And only after that do I need to worry about what people will think.

But it doesn't work. My brain always jumps ahead about sixteen spaces. Grr.

Reading

I used to read. Constantly. I used to read to escape my own existence, and ignore the problems that faced me.

I didn't read books about other people's problems, at least not emotional ones. I had enough of those hanging around without chasing other people's. I've never been that into catharsis, and "having a good cry" just makes me feel like a snotty wet rag, wrung out and tossed aside.

My sister had a shelf full of Lurlene McDaniel books, those depressing teen romance/dramas which feature incurable diseases (leukemia seems to be a popular one), tragedies like car crashes and other accidents, and the tragic deaths of those close to the protagonists.

I didn't get it then, and I still don't.

I don't read (and watch) to get glimpse at real life. I live it. I live every day with the same existence, watching those around me suffer from various ailments, waiting for bad news from aging family members (I dread the phone ringing early in the morning), counting the bills mounting up that are getting harder and harder for me and mine to pay.

Why the everloving fuck would I want to fill my imagination with things that I am already deluged with every day? Will that somehow mitigate the pain? It never has for me.

So when I read, I want something fantastic. I want something extraordinary, whether in the romances I do read, in the mysteries or the suspense stories I love, or in the fantasy and science fiction that brings me to other world and alien experiences.

I read to experience things that I never will.

I try to write the extraordinary and just feel inadequate. I'm not that special, though my imagination is pretty cool. Sometimes I just feel completely unable to do justice to the things that are in my head. And if I do them justice, will I ever make someone else feel free like I felt reading Bruce Coville, Mercedes Lackey, Anne McCaffrey, Elizabeth Peters, Nora Roberts, Robert Asprin, Tamora Pierce? I don't know.

I don't know that I'll ever have the courage to try. Another boring thing about me.

Homeschooling? But think of the children!

A huge pet peeve of mine is people denigrating homeschooling. There's a right way and a wrong way to do it, and it's not for everyone, but it's an alternative for those who are miserable in a conventional schooling environment.

I was not homeschooled, though I desperately wanted to be. I didn't have any friends at school, I only had tormentors and people who talked behind my back if they ever noticed me at all. The only time I was ever treated well in school was for about a week after Columbine, when people realized that sometimes people want revenge for the shitty treatment. But the goldfish minds forgot about that quickly enough.

But what gets me most is, almost without fail, the only thing people object to about homeschooling (or unschooling) over conventional schooling is: But what about the child's social life?

What. The Fuck. Even my own mother, who saw the hell I was put through, threw this excuse at me. I can't even articulate the rage it made me feel.

I contemplated suicide in the third grade because I was so miserable and emotionally abused I figured my world would be better off without me in it, since I was obviously worthless and just taking up space. I didn't for several reasons, but mostly they can be summed up as: I was too chicken to actually do it, and I wouldn't do that to my parents.

Yeah, school is a great place. Even completely ignoring the false and ridiculous standards of "education", issues with funding, and the way schools enforce inequalities in our social structures. School is: forced contact with tens to hundreds of children your own age but drastically different emotional and intelligence levels, and forced into competition a lot of the time, just for the teachers' attention and grades and recognition and "friendship" and it's all just BULLSHIT!

Yeah, mom, school did me so fucking much good. I still have to fight not to rage out when I think about the little shits I went to school with, and now I have a niece, and the schools are in many ways so much worse than they used to be. I worry for her so much, because I was so miserable. Her parents weren't too happy in school either, but they both work full time and I don't see my being able to convince them to homeschool her any time soon...

I used to be judgmental. And I judge myself for that.

So, before I got credit cards myself, I used to mentally sneer at those who accrued thousands in credit card debt. I thought, How hard can it be to not spend money? I mean, really. Did you actually need those shoes or that new couch?

And then I got credit cards.

It's such a slippery slope. At first, I was going to be good and not get caught in the credit card trap. I was only going to use the card for gas and groceries, so I could use the cards, establish some credit, earn some rewards points and pay it mostly down at the end of the month.

Ha.

Now, two-three (I forget) years later, I have over four thousand dollars on my two credit cards, and I find myself trying to pay them down. And then I keep needing to use the cards because I accidentally double paid my student loans, or my cellphone bill came out of my account earlier than I thought it would.

I have a plan to pay them off. The one with %22 interest is under $1,000, which is good. But the one with %13 interest has almost $3,300 on it, and that's going to take longer. I can get the first paid off before this year ends (as long as I stop needing the overdraft protection, damn it). But even paying $300 a month on the other one, it's going to be nearly a year before the other one is paid.

And all this on a little more than $600 a month income.

Whee.