I'm 23 again!
I just ate a slice of German Chocolate Cake with skim milk for breakfast. YUM! I scraped off a half inch of unnecessary chocolate icing to avoid crashing and headaches later.
My book seems to be doing well (especially among the fucking piracy crowd. They don't steal, they're "sharing." FUCK THAT!)
Birthday, birthday, happy, breathe...FUCKERS!
Anyway my first novel, BROKEN, is getting some nice reviews: http://jenre-wellread.blogspot.com/2
Still alive.
So is my family.
My holiday short story just came out from Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/st
I have a WIP with a beta.
Paying bills.
In the early stages of a new novel.
Still doing the occasional freelance edit to bring in some extra cash.
Enjoying my time spent with fellow Dan Radcliffe fans at Global Radcliffe Addicts.com.
I'm loving Twitter and the friends I've made there.
I'm warm, fed, clothed, and housed.
On the downside, I could drop dead any moment from the extra weight I'm carrying. This depresses and frightens me. At my most recent doctor's visit, they were pushing for gastric bypass and told me they'd refer me and I'd be getting a call. But I left there with the distinct feeling that they forgot or have decided I'm beyond help. I haven't got the call yet. I was in a relationship for about a month once, but she was too young and I was in love with someone else. I've spent an alarming amount of energy and time chasing after people who weren't interested and then moped when they told me they weren't interested. Crazy much? Until I came to the decision that's it's perfectly fine to be alone, not dating...too many complications. Of course, being morbidly obese helps keep any potentials away, always has. Handy, that.
There, now that all that bad stuff is in one neat, compact paragraph, I can look ahead from here and do better...right?
Here's to 47! Wish me luck.
