Aaaaannnnddd a rejection. They were quick to pass. Bah. Seeing how few and far between literary agents who support children's books are (they all love YA novels, but actual children's books not so much), this is gonna be a long and sucky process. Maybe I should just suck it up and work on this YA novel I have in my head and just give up on the children's book angle. Or self publish. Because that's not the saddest thing in the world at all. Damn. :-/

Yet another god damned rejection. I should just accept my utter failure at existing. My only published work is in a freaking nonpaying market, the one that is supposed to be published next is supposed to come out next week and I haven't even gotten a damned contract for it, so I highly doubt That's going through and now every story I did have out has been returned to me with friendly little notes saying "this was really well written But" or "you have a really good handle on description But" or some other such nonsense. Basically they all boil down to "You're not good enough of a writer for us to accept" because if I were? They would freaking pay me for my stuff already and stop with the platitudes.

/rant.

Another rejection. Bah.

Though your essay "That's Not Really Funny" was at times gripping and emotive, we are currently not able to accept it for publication.

I hate rejection letters like that. I just want to write them back to say "Why?! If it's gripping and emotive, then why can't you accept it? Huh? ANSWER ME!!!"

Grrr.

I'm toying with the idea of cutting my hair back to a pixi cut again. As much as I want to grow it out really long again, doing so means that it's in my face more often, which annoys the crap out of me. Plus I know that doing so will, at least temporarially, help with this goddamn anxiety. However, I'm also going to two weddings this summer and I'm not sure how good a pixi cut looks while wearing a dress...because I've never worn a dress when I've had my hair that short before.

I need to just stop thinking. Really, all I do is just make myself crazy.

Bah. I just had the same story rejected twice in one day.

That has got to be a freaking record.

Damnit.

So I got a call from Jon last night.

Erica is coming to the Pittsburgh show.

Fuck.

For those who don't know, Erica is the girl that Jon dated after me. She and I abhor each other. Notice I didn't use "hate". Hate isn't strong enough of a word. There are very few people in this world who just the mere mention of their name can send me into a blind rage. This girl is one. When they were dating the first time around, she managed to distance him from almost every one of his friends, including all but forbidding him to speak to me, and then broke his heart and I then had to spend the better part of a year putting it back together. I have this really sneaky suspicion that the only reason she's claiming love for him again is because his band is becoming successful, but I have no confirmation on that.

As it is, she is flying up for this show, specifically, out of all of the shows they're playing. Why? Simply because I'm here and she wants to cause trouble. I know this, and, for once, Jon actually knows this as he mentioned that he got into a blowout with her about it. Good for him not being a complete doormat this time around. He and I already had a very limited time together--just the short time before their show and maybe an hour or two after it--and now She's going to be there, and she's going to make it absolutely impossible to talk to him or spend any time alone with him.

The funny thing is that I had almost come to terms with him getting back together with her. I literally was just thinking a few days ago that, if this is going to make him happy, it's not my place to say anything about it, no matter how big of a mistake I think he's making.

Now, however. Now I want to fucking strangle the girl. I feel selfish for feeling this way, but, you know, She's seen him, lately. She's gotten back together with him. I just went through a hellish year and had my fiance kick it on me, and I could really use a hug and a face to face conversation with my best friend. The fact that she is deliberately sabotaging that, I think, shows quite a bit of the limited character that she has.

So now I don't even know if I should bother going. I'm not going to be able to have a conversation with the guy, because she's going to fucking just be...there. Over his shoulder. Like Jaba's little mate going "heeeheeeheeheee". However, I have no idea when I'll get the chance to see him, again, and I've never (unlike her--I am reminded of this) just not gone to one of his shows. Even when he was playing with Robin when I was still so insecure in myself that the mere thought of seeing them play would cause me to have an anxiety attack, I still went. So, by that logic, because I am his friend and I love watching him play, I should go.

But still...

I don't know. I still just can't fathom anyone being that...ugh. Whatever.

I seem to have lost my ability to read people. Either that, or the last few boys I've been interested in are just impossible to read.

I went out with Harry, tonight, to the movies (saw the Bucket List, which was great, by the way. A bit bittersweet at the end, but still really good).The odd thing is, then, that when he dropped me off at my apartment, my goodnight kiss was nothing more than a peck before he pulled away. Okay, I get the hint, he's not that into me. At least that's what that says to me, specially after we've made out a few times, so I think we're past the awkward goodnight kiss stage. But then he says that he should be back in town in a few weeks--he has to go to Italy (he works for an Italian company that has offices over here) for two weeks, and what should be bring me back? I told him to "surprise me", but now I'm super confused. I'm fine with the idea of him not being into me--he lives on the other side of the state. I don't know why I'm getting myself involved in the first place, but, unfortunately, he intrigues me. But why, if this is the case, would he offer to bring me back something from Italy and make sure to let me know when he's coming back? I am so confused. I want to ask him what is going on, but I don't want to be 'that girl". I know I've been out of the game for a while, but I don't remember things being this complicated. Why can't I find another boy like Danny who wore his feelings on his sleeve? I never had to be all self conscious or questioning with him, I knew from the first time we hung out how he felt. Stupid boys.

Speaking of stupid boys, I think Rob's back in town, but he didn't return my call, though I did speak to him online a few days ago. Ah well. I made my effort. If he's serious about wanting to stay friends, it's his turn.

This has just been an all around disappointing week. Over the weekend Gregg was in the area for a wedding and we were going to get together when he drove through around here on his way to Niagara. I ended up having to work, but he was going to visit me there, so I gave him the address of the restaurant. Turns out, for some reason, there are two Cranberries in this freaking state, and the one he ended up in is two hours in the wrong direction. So that killed that idea, which sucks cos I really have been missing the kid for some reason. I haven't seen him in almost two and a half years or so. Boo on that.

Then Harry and I were supposed to go to the Improv Sunday night, but, based on him having family things to take care of (his grampa is sick and he had to take him to the hospital for preventative measures), a miscommunication (he thought the show started later than it did) and awful road conditions, he didn't get into town till way too late to do anything seeing as how he had to wake up early for work. So Evan came over and we watched Idiocracy, which is awesome enough that it almost made up for it. Almost.

Then yesterday, when I got out of class, I discovered my battery was dead. That was exciting. Of course this is also the one day that I forget my cell phone at home. It took me an hour to find someone to jump it and get enough juice for it to turn on and by the time I got home, ran in, c hanged, and got to work I was almost a half hour late. And actually, seeing as they, for some reason, thought I would be in at three (which is impossible as I don't even get out of class till almost 230), I was, by their standards, even later. Grand.

My English professor is sadistic and assigned us 60 or so pages to read for tomorrow, which meant I had to go get my books, today. Stood in line for an hour and a half or so, and ended up a bit late for Algebra, which sucks cos I need every moment of class time there I can get). I'm doubly bothered by my English class because we have to analyze poetry, which is one of my biggest annoyances with lit classes. Why do people automatically assume there are higher meanings and symbolism in poetry? Yes, I know that, generally speaking, there are, but what if that's just a generalization made by people assuming there will be? Can't a person just write something because they feel like writing it? Why does there have to be more to it than that? And, of course, we mostly study poetry by dead people who can't stand up and say, "No, really, I just felt like writing a poem about a wagon". Ugh. I am not going to enjoy this class, and that bothers me.

Good thing, though: my final project for my Children's Lit class is to write/illustrate a children's book. I'm excited. I'm considering doing something explaining death/grief to kids in a secular way. Something that I would have liked to find when my sister was dying. Paired up with the fact that I'm taking that Psych of Death/Dying class, I think it will work out in an interesting way. We'll see. It will either be that or something about a sock monster who lives in the dirty clothes under your bed.

Class and then work, tomorrow. Fan-freaking-tastic. I'm kind of sad that I'm not going to bed with a goofy smile on my face because of a boy. Stupid confusion.


OH! I forgot to add: I dreamed of Danny last night. Was the first time in a long while. I forget how it was set up, but he just showed up at my apartment and I was really excited because I thought that he had somehow come back from the dead. I told him all about going to see his family for Xmas and then mentioned the Death/Dying class that Evan and I are both taking. He looked sad at that (he never spoke in this dream for some reason, but I could tell what he was thinking in a telepathic dream way), and I told him not to be upset, because it wasn't just because of him that this class would be good for the both of us to take. We both had lost people close to us (my sister; his father) and this might be beneficial for those reasons, as they were both terminal illnesses, than because of him, because his death was sudden and different. But it was okay, I told him, because he was back now, so it didn't matter. He looked even sadder at that statement, like he was going to cry and then I realized. You're not really back, are you? I asked. He shook his head. I'm dreaming, aren't I? I asked. He nodded, and we both started to cry a bit and so we kissed, and it was...strangely awkward. As if I have gotten so used to the kissing styles of other boys (all....two of them that I've kissed enough to pick up style), that I forgot his. Which is a sad thought. But then I woke up.

I miss him. I miss dreaming of him, too. It really has been...god, months, since I have. At least like that, where there was interaction and knowledge of his death like it was a visit of sorts.

I want so many things right now that I have no idea what I want. Strange how that works, innit?