Listening to Elvenking, Jon Anderson and LCD Soundsystem on shuffle is an experience.

When you are writing an email to an editor, then you stop to check your writing mechanics

I've been totally swamped this last five days and I've turned down, like, three writing assignment (One of which I was actually really eager to sink my teeth into but asaddfasjdhajfhadsfa). Depression it comes a-calling 

I visited my dad's grave yesterday; grass as high as four feet covering it (it took me twenty minutes to find the grave). It's an old graveyard and it doesn't accept any more burial I believe. Both my lower arms have these scratches and they itch and hurt at the same time.

That awkward moment when you forget how to spell faxsimile, facsimilie, faximail, vjasd;b;asufslfkdasngls

"O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!"

Some of you may have suspected what it is I do to put food on the table. Besides teaching--which I really like to take a time off from, but sadly I cannot, I write advertorials, articles, and reviews. I also write books, and do some ghostwriting now and then. I do quite a lot of translating, including for film subtitles.

So, this one friend of mine, whom I consider one of my best friends if not THE best in this period of my life, works for, I daresay, the biggest cable TV provider in the country. His is a final editor, and I'm one of the company's outsourcers.

Now, he emailed me today, writing that he told his boss that should they have any Shakespeare films that need translation, they ought to give that job to ME.

Now, I love Shakespeare as much as the next guy, but do I want to translate the bard's words. No. Do I want to sit and watch Hollywood-made Shakespeare's? No. I could sit only about ten minutes into Romeo + Juliet, before the urge to barf, send out curses to anyone involved in the production, and cry took over.

And to this "best" friend of mine:

"All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease!"

Still love the guy, tho'. "Damned" is right.

#unedited
#EmailPost
#rants
#MoodSwing

Feeling silly and weak in ... some parts.

So, I was on this commuter train, going to my place of work. I had my notebook and some other stuff in my backpack. I HAD the backpack with me most of the way, and put it on the compartment above me only about three frickin' minutes from my stop.

I had Suicidal Tendencies blasting from my headset. Now, I know that hot piece of music isn't any way responsible for the thing about to come down--'cuz you know, it's the goddamn SUICIDAL TENDENCIES is what this is--but, hey, it makes this note somewhat longer, so there you go.

Anyway, the train arrived at this big-ass station, and it was my stop, though I don't usually get off here: This train's final stop is not the one where MY commuter train ends its journey at, but the train had been the one ready to leave and I hadn't had time to wait for the commuter train I'd have prefered to take.

Well, so I got off the train and walked like a boss to north exit of the station because that's where I take the public minivan to my office. Upon reaching the spot where I'd wait for my ride, I realized that I LEFT my fricking backpack on the BLASTED train! So, I ran, like an ass, back to the station, rushed to the Station Master's office, and, while trying to catch my breath, told the people there that I was an ass, with Suicidal Tendencies blasting. A few phone calls later, the good people at the office told me the backpack was found and was secured and that I should just hang in there and chill and wait for the commuter train to return to the station, which should not be not more than 40 minutes (The train has only two more stops before reaching the last station and commutes back, really).

So, here I am, sitting on a bench, writing this. With Suicidal Tendencies blasting.