kate rothwell

I was locked out! Can you believer it? Google and gmail LOCKED ME OUT. I couldn't get into my own places, like this blog or email or my writing group . Disabled, shunned and banned, I was a pitiable sight. (I wrote site , which is also accurate) I sent off long, pleading letters, and short, angry notes. I filled out forms. I'm not sure which of those things eventually worked, but I'm back again. The days of no gmail served as a severe reminder that my online world isn't really mine, I'm just borrowing it. I know who holds all the cards in this relationship. The only real power I have is to walk away and Google Gmail etc wouldn't even notice if I should do that. Well. Damn. They can just forget about the card I was going to send for their birthday, is all I have to say. Now if we were paying customers they'd at least sigh when we washed our hands of them. I'm still here though so they win. Again. Curse you, useful free services. Stop playing with my sou...

I'm having a hell of a time writing these days. For once it's not outside forces conspiring to make my life miserable.** Here's the sort of dialogue I have with myself when I sit down to work. me: what's the use? It'll be dreck and I'm out of good ideas anyway. myself: Shut up. You've been here before and the only way to get past this is to ignore yourself and just write. me: But we just reread the thing we're writing and it's stupid. Not just badly written but STUPID. POINTLESS. And no one's buying the stuff I already wrote. I mean we love Thank You Mrs. M and no one is buying it. No one. myself : Would you concentrate on the work at hand? What comes next in that scene with Billy? write it. And please shut up unless you have something useful to say. me: Fine, all right. But can I just say, it's pretty cool that I know this is a temporary sort of situation. But um ... could you take a moment and reassure me? Please? Maybe tell me that we...

I swear to god, there's something about autumn that gives me the pip. I used to think it's because this is when most of my family/friend deaths have occurred but now I think it has to do with something chemical because that's how I think these days. Everyone's a big sack o'chemicals. That's enough to give anyone an outlook lower than a toad's knee. But in the autumn I'm peeled, totally raw. I thought when you get older, it's harder to get all jittery and sad because you have experience and know what's going on. Yeah, but it's experience in getting jittery and sad, dude. The most unlikely things send me into a decline. The sight of an nearly wrecked swing-set in someone's back yard. A nicely carved pumpkin sagging a bit. An empty popcorn bag in a pile of leaves. In fact I'd say just about anything that has the air of being abandoned and near its end. WTF? If those images showed up in some post-modern short story, I'd give the write...

Why do I have to keep commenting over at Shannon's place? What creates this compulsion? The smilies? I should go haunt ferfe again.