Finally done, and now I'm getting nervous.

I'm finally done, after nearly 3.5 hours, with my last request of the day--for those of you who are reading this, and who do not know me personally, I am an online writing advisor for the University of Maryland's Effective Writing Center (EWC), which means, in a very basic way, I am a student (barely a Sophomore) who advises other students on their writing (and it never ceases to amaze me how I able to do this with so little formal education, but I just can).

And this leads me to say, that I've been sitting in front of this laptop for the last three hours, and it may have been longer than that because my batteries, which last two hours, ran out twice, and I am getting so terribly nervous about HOW IN THE HELL AM I GOING TO FIND THE TIME!! to write 50,000 WORDS!! in ONE!! month with ALL THE RESPONSIBILITIES!! I have??? (Picture me scrunching and smashing my face like Play-Doh right now with my mouth agape.) It just doesn't seem possible, but golly-gee, I just gotta do this. I really have to do this--and not for anyone else, but just for me.

Halloween is coming.

Not-so-spooky pumpkin for Logan drawn by the lovely Molly & carved by me.

Okay, so it's 2 a.m. and I'm waiting for Logan to go back to sleep so I'll write incoherently.

Okay, so it's like nearly 2 a.m., and I'm googling (googeling?) like mad trying to figure out who won the Tiger's game (I went to bed. I was too tired to stay up)--now, in the past, I wasn't one to get into sports of any kind, as a (pseudo) feminist of sorts, I sports are kind of lame--men looking like apes in ill-fitting tight pants swinging bats like clubs through the air to hit rock-like balls and then running around the bags. Totally bizarre and pointless, but for some reason the hubby decided to take up watching the Tiger's games because he says it makes him feel more manly ( I guess writing short horror stories, reading 1980s comic books, eating bowls of chili and farting profusely doesn't do it for him), and me, being desperately too tired at night to do much of anything else, started conking out on the sofa starting at the barbaric shitfest with him. (Now that is more bizarre than wearing ugly, ankle-tight pants, which I might add, they [The Gap, Old Navy, even K-mart] brought back this season.) And I even ended up going to a game with Chris a couple months ago, guzzled fuckloads (40+ dollars worth) of beer, got tore up, and shouted until my lungs fell out. Proof here:

You can witness more, here. But now I'm starting to forget the point of this. Oh yeah, this lovely quote from Tiger's Manager (who Chris & I will swear up and down we saw at a local diner two months ago):

"We have to win three games in a row," Tigers manager Jim Leyland said after the game [they lost 4-5]. "Can we do that? Absolutely. Are we in a good position? Absolutely not."

Nice. (I'm saying "nice" in a long drawn out kind of way--not aloud, but in my head.) I guess I will have to resort to watching gorillas in equally as tight pants, but with shoulder pads, knocking each other down because one of the gorillas caught a pig sack (???) and they are running to one end of the clearing that happens to have lines on it. But at least the Detroit Lions never disappoint us. They always loose, and that's something to cheer for.

It's amazing what a Mexican break can do for a person.

It's amazing how much more human I feel after drinking a Corona and a shot of tequila at my favorite bar with the hubby. I felt so much more human that I nearly forgot I had children, but when the conversation with the cute [female] bartender somehow turned to potty training--dookie, poop, pee-pee, wieners, and the like--I remembered who I am, a mother, and I was happy for it.

What an odd morning... is this an alternate universe?

It's terribly odd to be up at 7:00 a.m., and to be the only one up--the grumbly husband (of nearly four years now--who is also a writer, comic books artist, currently not working) is sleeping, darling Logan (my four-month-old--who is still up all hours of the night and loves sweet potatoes), is sleeping, and my little ghostly daughter, Molly (my three-year-old--who loves to slip out of her room at 6:00 a.m. with a Little Pony comforter over head saying "WooooOOO-WoooOOO"), is still sleeping, too.

Am I in some sort of alternate reality where moms actually get to sip on a cup of coffee without having to get up from her spot to prepare bottles, find remotes, fix toast and butter, and change last night's sport's channel to a more healthy dose of boob-tube Noggin?

I'm almost afraid to breathe because it might wake me from this dream and knock me back into reality.

Here goes nothing, and that might be all that comes of this.

Just a few days left until I begin....

November 1st marks the first day of Nanowrimo--something I learned about my first semester of school as a journalism minor--when insane people from around the globe attempt to write 50,000 words in one month (yes, there are no typos in that phrase--fifty-thousand words in thirty days); and it also marks the day I embark on writing my first novel/memoir called "Tales from a (Former) Trailer Park Kid," right along with these crazy people. I seriously doubt I will hit even the 25,000-word mark, but I sure as hell can try. I've been hanging onto this pseudo-memoir in my head since I was 17, and it's gunna have to come out sooner or later before I land in the nut-house (I've almost landed there about two months ago, you know [seriously]).

And so....

This journal is for the sole purpose of expressing my thoughts and fears duing this upcoming journey. Who knows, maybe I'll stick around after November as well. I kind of like spouting off what's in my head.

Wish me luck,
Sarah