. . . But you can give them to the birds and bees. I want money. That's what I want.
My dreams were filled with expensive things last night. Yet necessary things. My dreams were filled with the agony of worrying about where I would get the money to pay for these things. It was one of those nights where I instantly fall into a deep coma sleep because I'm so tired . . . and then my mind goes into hyper-drive seeming to know that I'm so deeply under that I'll be a captive audience for at least 10 hours. And I'm whacked with dream after dream after dream, each one posing a different more stressful scenario than the one before.
I slept soundly and for many hours . . . and now I'm freaking Zombie Woman. Oy!
So obviously I'm a bit more worried about money than I may allow myself to believe in the waking hours. Okay brain, thanks, I get it. Next time could you kick in right before I buy something foolish that I REALLY don't need and leave my sleep to me.
But one good thing about being whacked by your brain in the middle of the night . . . I've awoke with the incredible uncontrollable desire to get stories in the mail to paying markets. I am prompted to action. Of course it would take at least a year to see any money should any of those stories find success . . . but still, what else am I to do?
Mood: Exhausted
Drinking: zip, nothing, nada
Listening To: Take a guess. Hint--it roars through the backyard next door every f-ing day!
Hair: recently hot oiled and deep cleansed but still frizzy which can mean only one thing . . . I've got to bite the bullet for real and get a cut
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