Work and Other Ruckus

You know me, I hate everyone.

Three books arrived for me in the mail this week. The first was The 120 Days of Sodom by the Marquis de Sade. The other two arrived at the same time – Critique of Pure Reason and Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant. I decided to read de Sade’s work first, giving my head a break from all the thinking that I’ve been enduring lately.

That’s not really working out for me. Have you ever read the book?

I took it upon myself Wednesday to help out with the pre-production of the puppet show. Big mistake, by the way. I spent four hours reading and summarizing and attempting to fix the story’s plot holes and give it a better ending. The story has gone through so many alterations that I wish that the original story idea was kept – a retelling of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” entitled “The Last Princess.” It went through a first revision when the title was changed, which also changed the entire plot by adding a character that was never mentioned before. It was written, submitted and changed again. The alterations this time left a sour taste in my mouth. A train wreck that didn’t know where to land. So I worked on it. Starting with the one-sentence summary of the original story, I created a three paragraph plot line that proved a slightly better story. This took me a cup of French Vanilla Mocha/Hot Chocolate blend, four ibuprofen pills, and a lot of head tilting (a writing quirk I never knew I had until my co-worker pointed it out). This story idea was shot down by proxy. The story was to be rewritten again.

What happens to my three paragraph plot line? Well, I’m keeping it and working on it as a possible children’s book.

I don’t know where the story’s heading now, but according to my co-worker, the ending still splits into two directions. I suggested my ending to see if the idea gets the thumbs up. At this moment, I don’t care. I just want to get this month over with.

Lately, my depression promoted itself to co-pilot. I can’t shake it off. The proverbial black cloud looming overhead has decided to follow me. I haven’t felt this depressed in over a year. Now it’s burrowing through me. It’s set in deep, this time. A jack rabbit finding a home in my emptiness. The more it spreads, the more I accept that this time I’ll need an arsenal to fight it off. It will not be ignored.

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