rhythm clog

i just drank four cups of coffee in about 10 minutes.
i feel like i'm going to combust.
i am working on a new story about a man and a girl walking into the bed where an ocean evaporated and i am typing so fast i'm not even thinking about the words.
once again i am distracting myself from writing while i write by blogging.
i am housesitting for my parents.
they have a dog that i am supposed to feed and let out though she is very old and won't get up when i call her.
they have been gone for 5 days and the dog hasn't eaten any of her food.
i put some cold cuts on the dog food to make her want it more
but she just eats the cold cuts and leaves the rest.
she won't go outside to piss unless i force her with my hands.
last night i couldn't find her for an hour.
she was laying on her belly in my parents' bedroom where she is not allowed to go.
i slept in my sister's old room with a new bed that no one but me has slept in.
every time i sleep in this room i have nightmares and move around in my sleep.
in one of the nightmares i thought i had been locked in the back of a truck.
i woke up naked, beating the window so hard
i am surprised i didn't break it.
i don't know why i still drink coffee because usually any day i drink it
i end up staying up all night.
the caffeine gets in my system and stays there
and i have enough problems going to sleep as it is.
i was up until the sun came up again last night though i tried to lay down and start sleeping around 4 am.
my brain would not shut the fuck up.
i could not lay still on the bed.
i was also afraid i would break the window or walk into something and hurt myself.
i got up and went and laid in my parents' bed.
their bed is very large.
i had taken an over-the-counter sleeping pill that made me dizzy when i walked
but did not shut my brain off enough to put me under.
i slept on my mom's side of the bed.
there was a ridge in the mattress from where she usually lays, i think.
i did not fit into her ridge.
i turned horizontal and arranged the pillows a different way so i did not feel alone.
the dog was still beside the bed and kept moving every few minutes.
she gnashed her gums and sighed and wriggled.
i got out of the bed and put her outside and closed the door
and then the sun came up and i slept.

dumb dumb dumb child

i am feeling bad about the pursuit of writing
i am feeling like i am wasting a lot of my time
i put roughly 5-8 hours a day 5-6 days a week into it
and i think about it probably 68% of my waking hours not including the time spent thinking which causes loss of sleep
and the bursts of pleasure i receive in my head from the writing
and the occasional acceptance of work
and the fine people i've met or e-met as a result
are often in the short run worth it
but i don't have a job
and i don't have income more than the money i make from the record label i half-assedly produce
and i procrastinate as much as i produce by activities such as writing negative-minded blogs
and i have a new mortgage which needs to be paid for and each hour i write
is another hour i am not making money to pay my mortgage and thus decreasing
the money i've managed to save over the past few years
and today i feel like shit.
i feel like shit about a lot of things but right this minute that seems most pressing.
i still can't bring myself to read very much.
mostly i've been reading books that are very short and have small sections so that i can dip out whenever i want to and maybe come back in a few days or a week even and maybe not even remember what was happening.
i read yannick murphy's new collection IN A BEAR'S EYE straight through in about 90 minutes the other day and really liked it.
i read robert lopez's novel PART OF THE WORLD a couple weeks ago pretty much straight through and really liked it.
and i've actually been more prolific with short pieces in the past two months than i've been in a really long time since i've taken a break trying to work on my novel, which i realized will now be the 5.5th novel i've completed some form of draft of, none of which has been done anything with except shown to a handful of editors.
perhaps i am lazy or half-assed.
sometimes i go back and read the things i wrote and thought highly of and just want to cringe and delete them and send emails to the editors i sent them out to and apologize for sending them something so worthless and maybe try to focus my thinking energy into wiping that impression out of their mind even though they probably don't remember me from any of the several thousand others they read every month or year.
i think the presence of a submissions tracking device like the one at duotrope.com is an excellent tool but also causes some amount of stress or nervousness in me.
i think too much about what's where and who and when and how long and what does it matter.
my duotrope says i have a 14.56% acceptance ratio which is higher than the average but i also do not report everything so it's probably much lower.
which doesn't even matter really because having any acceptance at all is pleasant but for some reason i keep thinking about it.
i don't know why i am writing this because most of the time i feel like i am beginning to accomplish something and beginning to write things that are actually publishable and worthwhile to some extent but a lot of the times i just feel like shit.
i will feel better in another minute but i think i need to go run a couple miles and hope that tonight my brain lets me sleep.