I've said it before, I'll say it again�why is it that when I write very little or can't write at all, that a lot more people read this thing? And when I write really long entries that I'm proud of, two people read it?

My eye still has a slight sting and this morning felt no better. I think I need to stop reading in the dark by booklight. I love that though; the world of my messy room is eradicated and it's like in The Neverending Story, me and a book and the story. :-P So let's see how much I can write today.

My overcoming-phone-fear progress is co-mingled with skin-picking, it turns out. To explain, in an agoraphobic attempt to not leave the house and go to the store 3 or 4 miles away, I have gone through a 2 day nightmare with Kohl's�never again. I have literally had to talk to 9 people so far, 3 from my bank, 3 from customer service, 2 supervisors, and some really stuffy lady somewhere in between, who said they don't ship to Mexico�hahaha�(imagine my happiness when she was promptly corrected "That's NEW Mexico, it's a state in the U.S." although I did not tell her that you'd never know it by living here). However, in between having my mom dial the #'s and waiting to see if it's the right place, then me talking to these people, I have been picking at my skin, not terribly badly, but enough that I have small welts that appear to be a combination between acne and a rash. It's not fun.

The story? Well, their website is shit. I kept getting error messages even to add my address to my profile. So I had to call my order in. I did get 10% off and free shipping for my hassles, which included saying my card was not valid, when it certainly is. But I have a $1322.00 problem with my card now. As in they charged that much to it trying to get it to go through. It would not accept it because their apparently "new" system is a mess, even though they kept saying it must be my card or my bank, which it is not � officially � obviously because the goddamn charges are on there. That withdrawal amount is all pending, and it's an issue�I am not rich. I ordered about $250.00 worth of stuff, not 1300, so today, back to the supervisors�who promised to call the bank and remove the charges and remedy it immediately. The other guy said the same thing and that it would not go through and be removed with in 24 hours, but that was like almost three days ago. And 5 hours later, I'm still waiting for the return call. If the charges go through, I'm fucked, royally. And the Federal Trade Commission will have to be called too. Fun Times.

I have never in my life been treated this badly by any store.

Yes, all of this is so I won't have to leave the house�

Anyway�

I told W last night I was hoping to buy a cute dress from Macy's as well, and showed it to him. He asked me to get him one too�I responded "would you like a gaiboi with that order as well?" He actually said "kthx" (kay, thanks) ahh, my so sincerely almost out of the closet ex-boyfriend.

I've gone through most of the book Old Friend from Far Away by local writer Natalie Goldberg. It's not a "great" memoir writing book, as half of the pages are filled with one sentence. But, if you're like me at the moment and stressing over everything, it's something to focus on. Anyway, I'm thinking that I like a thread of truth in fiction, so I may base some of my writing on my life, much like Plath's Bell Jar. Who I'll publish it to, I have no idea. I'm trying to find literary sites that deal with health and illnesses. It's harder than you can imagine.

One thing I've read is that in order to be a well-published book writer, you must have a somewhat unique and marketable name. I read somewhere that if anyone has been published under your name, there can be issues, so even a middle initial can set you two apart, and should be used. It sounds similar to Hollywood, really. I remember the problem of there being two Michelle Williams', and well, we all know which of those two succeeded in using the name. The point is though that they both did not, only one did. I'm glad for this reason that both of my names (pen and birth) are unique.

I got my Phi Theta Kappa membership thing in the mail today. The certificate is gorgeous. I wish my Diploma was this pretty. It's embossed with gold. My name is in a traditional old-English calligraphy font. The pin isn't as ugly as I was expecting, and it's magnetic, which is kind of cool. I'm an official overly ambitious agoraphobe.

My mom has been leaving the stove and oven on, each time she turns it on, for three days now. She turns it on and walks away. And she, of course, forgets about it. Part of my head hurting two days ago was from a Teflon-coated pan that sat on the stove till I could smell it burning. If I could say I despise any one quality in her, this is it. My whole life I've had to pull smoking pans out of the oven and over-heated pots off the stove. She stopped buying aluminum pans when she melted one, literally, on the stove. For those of you who've never done it, when I attempted to lift it off the burner, it looked much like lava, as it dripped from the handle and top un-melted rim. She even re-tells a story of a powdered pacifier that I once had, when she boiled it to sterilize it and obviously went back to sleep. She woke up to find only ashes in the bottom of the pot. She finds this story amusing. I do not. I swear she is going to burn the house down one of these days. Plus, it's already 88 (31C) in my bedroom; I don't need the oven on.

The sun has set and it's getting cooler in here, which I'm happy over.

I actually cried a little bit at 3 am over realizing my dream/hope of having a dad is dying. It had nothing to do with my dad being sick, or my mom being sick either � cause great, I realized that too both my parents are now � but it is the part of those things I clung hold of as a child to get me through my�childhood. And somewhere I know that some part of me is going to process it that it's because I wasn't perfect enough that I didn't deserve anything I've never had. No matter how hard I fight it, it's there. How my dad being a drug addict who is dyin because o f it is my fault, I haven't the foggiest - but my mom even bame across a letter he wrote me saying such a thing - his drug use is my fault because i make him angry (for not talking to him while he's high). ??? (that's why I cut him off when I turned 18...)

My eye needs a rest, so I'm going to finish cleaning my room.

~e