Tidings of Comfort, If Not Joy

Tragedy and distress usually make for better blog entries, but I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge when things go right once in a while.  It’s a rare enough occurrence that you won’t get bored of hearing about it, I promise.

In any case, qualifying for an extension on my unemployment benefits hardly rises to the level of a joyous celebration, but I’ve been smiling all day long anyway.  The news couldn’t have come at a better time, since I’m basically at the end of all my resources and was beginning to contemplate when, not if, I would have to pack up and move back to my ancestral home to become one of the many, many failed twenty-somethings who couldn’t make it in the real world.

It was not a happy thought (sorry, Mom), and it was dragging me down so much this past week that I barely accomplished anything.  I pecked at the keyboard, writing little more than one or two sentences a night, feeling like a failure in all things.  I’m not someone who can write when I’m emotional or distressed.  I have to be in a good mood or I can’t concentrate and the words just don’t come.  So this little financial reprieve will be good for the book, as well.  Not that I’m going to be spending more time writing than job searching, but even my dad would (probably) agree that there’s not much career building to be done at midnight.

In other news, I’d just like to briefly thank everyone who has supported me in my writing endeavors so far: family, friends, and strangers.  It really means a hell of a lot to me that people are willing to take a few minutes out of their day and a few dollars out of their wallets to read what I have to say and engage with me about something I truly never thought I’d have the courage or ability to do.

All right, that’s enough mushiness.  I’ve got to start killing folk in my story soon, and it won’t do to be all gooey and sentimental.  Cheers for now.

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