Every day I awake to a blank canvas of white upon which to tell a story. Only my canvas is that of a computer screen and not the rough material of a traditional canvas. Instead of brushstrokes, it is keystrokes that tell my story. The story of my day-to-day life. Sometimes that story is sad. Sometimes it is uplifting. And other times it is thought-provoking.

What appeals to me most about writing more than anything else I’ve ever had an interest in is the fact that there’s the potential to go from good to great. I got to be a good singer, but nothing can ever make me a great singer. I was a good dancer, but in this day and age, nothing can ever make me a great dancer despite being pretty fit. Even though I have a knack for languages my Spanish can never go from good to great because I will never live in a Spanish-speaking country where I have no choice but to use it regularly. But age, environment and money have no discrimination when it comes to the art of writing. I may never be the best writer in the world, but someday I will be a great writer. And someday I just may take Eileen’s advice who pointed out that I’m doing this ALL on my own and that while I’m a good writer, why not take some creative writing courses if I’m open to constructive criticism? I can only get better if I do. For now, though, I have Mitch, and he is a fine writing mentor who compliments and inspires me when I write well, and who gives me that constructive criticism I need when there’s something I need to improve on.

Being a writer, like many fields within the arts and entertainment area, isn’t just something we do, it’s who we are. And most of us have been at it in some form or another all of our lives.

My journal is my non-judgmental therapist to pour my tears out on as well as my friend to share the good times with, and so I will refrain from apologizing if I’ve sounded down quite a bit lately. Being held back in life and feeling powerless to do much about it other than wait it out and hope it doesn’t last too long or get too rough can be a real stressor. If my journal doesn’t mind what I say, then why worry if my followers might?

I called my parents yesterday to let them know the Magic Jack would expire and that it would be a couple of weeks or more before I renewed my subscription. I told them to call the cell if they needed us. Well, I talked to Dad, actually. Mom was at the store. He said I should’ve called and told them and they would’ve paid for it, and that anytime I need money I should let them know.

I told him that was really sweet of him, but I didn’t want to bother them. He assured me it was ok, that’s what they’re there for, and if they couldn’t help, they’d say so.

It’s kind of sad that Tom’s family really put a complex on me so badly as far as reaching out to others for help after they so cruelly abandoned us in the past, but a part of me is also glad I didn’t ask for help. For one, they have enough of their own shit to deal with, and I also know I can’t run to them for help forever.

I didn’t even tell him we’ve been out of propane. Not literally, but we can’t afford to have the main tank filled because they have a 100-gallon minimum and that costs a couple of hundred bucks. Instead, we’ve been alternating between a couple of 5-gallon tanks, taking showers every day and a half instead of every day, and washing dishes/clothes in cold water. It’s lasting longer now that it’s been warmer.

I also didn’t tell him that we’re not starving, but we’re eating as cheap as we can and doing without the extras that we don’t need like soda.

What I did tell him was that we really, really appreciate the $25 IHOP card they sent and the $50 Sears card. We need new sheets and underwear, so the Sears card really helps out.

“If some people can be blessed in some areas of life, why can’t they be cursed in some areas, too?” I asked Tom. “What if we’re just forever financially cursed no matter what we do? What if this is it? What if it’s actually safe to say that if things are this bad at our age, they always will be? What if owning even the simplest, most ordinary house is just a dream, and what if we’re forever stuck in this tiny old trailer with its doors that don’t stay open on their own, its lack of space, and its floors without insulation that they’re so cold to walk on in the winter even with socks? Really, we live like bums yet we have done everything within our power to try to help ourselves better our lives. So what if it’s hopeless?”

But he got me to see that this world recession that’s going on is a very extraordinary situation that won’t last forever and it’s not something up there that’s picking on us even though it sure seems that way at times and like things will never change. He also got me to see that getting laid off under ordinary circumstances doesn’t automatically mean you’d lose your house if you had one since you’re usually only laid off for a couple of months. Then I remembered that he did get laid off shortly after we were married and we never lost the Phoenix house. He also reminded me that had we been smarter about Maricopa and not gotten such a big place that we couldn’t really afford, we’d still be there, even though we both came to hate many things about Arizona.

He may have a point, but I still worry that somehow, someway, no matter what we do, we’ll always be struggling.

I’m still entering sweeps even though that’s not looking promising at all. Things just aren’t what they used to be where that’s concerned. If I ever won big, Miss Hates to Travel is going to visit friends and family for sure, including my best cyber friends.

Anyway, after getting groceries and talking with Dad and Nane, I was in better spirits.

Nane said it’s a little late, she knows, but she is reading my book and congratulated me again for getting it published.

Instead of being flattered, I felt embarrassed and said, “Not the copy with the errors, I hope!” Then I emailed her the corrected copy.

She thanked me; though she assured me she didn’t mind spelling errors and probably wouldn’t even notice. Perhaps not if your first language isn’t English. Then again, her English isn’t bad at all. Some natives don’t speak/write it as well as she does.

She likes my sense of humor and we have fun with our usual jokes and nicknames for each other. I told her the story of how we “met” and explained how Tom read an article saying that if your native language is English, German would be the easiest to learn, even if I half agree with it. She told me how she ended up in NYC. She met this guy in Frankfurt she was with for two years. After he got out of the army he couldn’t find work, so his mother in NYC got them jobs there. She worked for Wall Street which is pretty big bucks. She was 23 at the time and I was 18 and right next door in MA. If only we’d known!

I’m glad I didn’t dump her, and I know this may sound silly as hell, but I feel like we grew closer than ever for some reason yesterday. And it may also sound silly to say it made me feel really good, but it did. :)

I’m hearing less and less from Maliheh and still I wonder if I’ve got anything to do with it or not. It’s like she’s slowly pulling away. If that’s what she wants, then ok. I enjoyed the time we had. I think it’s time to give her a taste of her own medicine, though, if I do hear from her again, and not be so quick to respond right away. Let her wait for me for once.

The fucking dogs drove me crazy last night. I slept till midnight and figured Jesse would be home by then, but no such luck. They didn’t shut up for another hour and I wasn’t sure if it was because the prick finally got home or if the dogs had simply exhausted themselves. If he left at 7:30 like he usually does, I’d be pretty exhausted too if I barked for 5 or 6 hours.

This morning the damn cock was doing his little engine gunning and running routine, though I think it may’ve been the motorcycle. It’s like he’s idling the damn thing longer before he takes off.

Not surprisingly, Tom “ran” into him at the fork when he was putting the trash up. He was either coming or going and mentioned cleaning the cooler and getting it ready for the heat that can’t get here fast enough. Tom said I was on nights now and asked that he wait till next week and he said he would.