Should have more AC articles up today. My pay rates have been going up, and I've earned a gift certificate via the site too (at least $25, I'm trying to see if I can get to the next level before the end of the month to double it). So I'm pretty pleased.
My rate of publishing there will probably go down this week though because I have another 100 reviews to do for $$ over at Judy's Book -- if I can think of another 100 places in NYC to review. Having done nearly 200 already, I am starting to run low of ideas. JB is pretty cool though. They sent me some schwag (*yawn*) but also a movie theatre gift card, which is fabulous! If you want to make $150 writing quick local reviews and get paid by paypal by the end of the month, tell me, and I'll send you the referral info.
What all of this means however, is that when I get paid for the JB stuff, I can order the Snape coat from Kambriel. Muahahaahah. I really hope the night of the JKR reading at Radio City is unseasonably cool. That's all.
Also me? still feeling pretty good. I had some fat-free dairy last night, which my stomach found, surprising, I think after not having any dairy for a month. But it wasn't a problem, and i think gradually warming up to it will be just fine.
I should write about my hair later. Just, the saga of it. It's a saga for everyone I think, women at least, but I'm not sure how much we all admit to the fact that sometimes it seems like the only story there is. Hard to explain unless you read this and are just nodding already. but I have an odd truce with mine these days, and that's the funniest thing on earth.
When I was younger, and part of The Internet Community That Must Not Be Named, I spent a lot of time writing about highly personal things, in part beause I was that age where of course I thought that my emotional experiences were unique and didn't particularly get that if anything was, it was merely my observational skills about them. Even when I talked about how my art was about addressing the common things we all experience and no one talks about, I still thought I was a unique snowflake. And, oh the heavens, people hated me for it, or more specifically for that the fact that a) I wouldn't shut up and b) hating people was sort of what was fashionable on The Internet Community That Must Not Be Named. And I didn't get it. I mean, just didn't, didn't, didn't fucking get it. I'll tell you what I get now though -- I get that the lot of that was valid -- both my self-indulgence and the anger it generated -- it was just two different versions of the same damn type of being young. And everything I experienced and observed and thought was so astounding and unique? Probably mostly was, for who and what I was then, just as things now are also certainly such, for who and what I am now. But there are things outside the realm of words, and someone who values language should know that better than anyone. I didn't then, and I do now. And when I didn't, so many people tried to tell me that I should understand it, so that in understanding it I would be quiet, quiet, quiet. I don't talk to those people anymore, because what I realize, just in this moment, is that their flaw for me was simple: they found something true and used it as an excuse to slack. Words aren't good enough, and they became silent and thought that was something to be proud of and tried to insist it was an orthodoxy of maturity or normalacy. Words aren't good enough, and I value the goddamn struggle. I've always been so weak, so hysterical, so _crazed_ about shit. But I hate cowardice more than anything, and I can't believe I let myself spend time listening to those who wished it on me with such self-blind fervor.
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darkrosetiger
