Sunday, April 13, 2008

I am fucking lucky that my external happened to be at Derek's house. I looked the other day and it turns out I backed everything up about a week more recently than I thought, which means I only lost about 12 pages which weren't that great anyway, and STILL HAVE the 22 I loved that I was worried about.

I am so fucking lucky because I have some savings bonds that I've never touched, put away for such an occasion as marriage or fire or theft, and after a day or so of What Do I Do upon recognizing the Moment of Emergency, I was able to cash them and replace much of what I lost. To spin positive this negative turn I have decided to use this money and buy a better one of all the things the burglars took. I have a razor phone which actually works now -- something I never would have shelled out the cash for had this not happened, but something which has already improved my stress levels almost absurdly. On a gorgeous Spring day I bought a new MacBook, to replace The Precious (RIP). It's the upgraded model I wanted in the first place, but couldn't justify spending the extra $200 dollars on. The Revenge of the Precious sits in front of me with a glowing face and a P key that does not stick, unlike her preceding namesake, playing the music saved onto my miraculously spared external. Next to the external, an enormous bottle of Maker's Mark to replace the handle of purloined Jim Beam. I still have enough to get either an iPod or a new digital camera, but I think I'll hold off on those till things settle down and I pay my security deposit and go on the trips I want to go on this summer. But they will come. Oh yes.

Fuck all these bad things that keep happening, all this negativity. You can't get me down, publishers who pass on my novel. You'll see. I'll show you because god wait till you read this one. Fuck the residency programs and their partial scholarships. Real writers don't have money, fucktards. Fill your programs with kept wives and sons and see what drivel you sieve out. Fuck prohibitively expensive tickets to New Orleans and Radiohead. I'll go so many places you wait. I'll find ways and paths you thought were long disintegrated and climb them to where I need to be. Fuck my body which keeps getting sick. I'll self diagnose at this point. Dig out old half-bottles of penicillin. I'll find an Orientalized accented herbalist to reprogram cells. I'll rattle and wheeze through work and parties and shows and match my outfit to the red in my eye. You can't stop me because I decided once to be Happy and being Happy has so little to do with what happens to you, you see, actually. You see what you do to me cannot change my Happiness because I am Alive and even when I am not anymore I will Have Lived and Lived well as I could and loved who I loved and did what I did am so, so fucking lucky for that.

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