I'm Back, Mammajamma

So I was sitting around with my wonderful wife and talking about the stress my job causes me. I was saying how yes, it pays the bills, isn't too hard, doesn't require long hours, doesn't involve travel, etc., but I don't enjoy it and don't believe I'm that good at it.

She thought about this pensively for a moment, and then replied "Oh, boo fucking hoo. Tell it to the kid with the iron lung. Tell it to the single mother working herself to the bone at starvation wages at Wal-Mart who just contracted tuberculosis from touching their 10-year-old fruit-resembling food product and has no health insurance and whose meager stock market investments just tanked so was forced into bankruptcy and foreclosure and bank closure and foreruptcy (a new one just invented by stock market billionaires so that they could make slightly more money, in which you give them all the assets you could potentially get in your life before you get them) and whose single worst fear in the world may be realized by Obama's horrifying threats to 'spread the wealth' to people like her and whose hunting grounds are shrinking because global warming has melted the ice caps and who is a polar bear. Go on, tell her. And then be eaten by her, assuming that she likes the taste of pathetic, whiny, spoiled little babies."

No, she didn't really say that. She's a nice person, and a social worker in training, so she suggested I try doing something I enjoy, which could be picking up writing again. And who knows, maybe try submitting writings to journals that compile non-fiction essays. I had to laugh a bit at the last one -- I didn't know such things existed, but if they did, I doubt my brand of nonsensical rants would exactly make paper fly off the shelves. But hey, worse things are published, right?

Which kinda gets to my life philosophy. "No matter how much you think you suck, remember that almost everyone else sucks worse." It's kind of my mantra. So with that bit of can-do spirit at my back, I think I'll start this up again, while also trying to get published. And I'll talk about my attempts to get published in this (along with whatever else comes into my head.) And then maybe my log of thoughts of attempting to be published would be published. And then time and space will cave in on itself and cause all existence to end. And my mission will be complete.