A Explanation

I just read my last post, and I gotta say, Whoa, I didn't know nitro and Red Stripe would create such a fucking monster. But it was kinda cool, in a way. It was late, late at night, like now, and I had some bad, scary bad chest pains in the afternoon. I never ever would have guessed that anxiety could do that to me, but it sure as hell did. Drinking a beer was not the brightest idea for a cure that I ever had, but I knew I wasn't really having a heart attack, just a good old fashioned stress attack. Or a fat woman was sitting on my chest. Other people have used that phrase before to describe how deeply they were into their pain. Fuck them. I have had a fat woman sitting on my chest. I know how it feels. I'm not particularly proud of the fact, but I am certified in the use of the phrase now.
My wife got me the Writer's Market for Valentine's Day. It's a great gift. It's huge. It lists thousands of publications that will take writing submissions. She got the Deluxe Edition. That means that I get a year of Writer's Market online, with even thousands more places to publish. I'm getting a little overwhelmed by this. She wants me to write to make some extra cash, which I think would be excellent. She also wants me to write because she believes that I can. That means the world to me. That is more than most people will ever get. People will live their entire lives and never have someone that believes in them. And some will have that gift, that someone, and will never know. If I never get published any farther than this blog, I will always be a writer in her eyes, as long as I try.

So here's to trying. Here's to nitroglycerene. Here's to massive doses of asprin. Here's hoping that I live long enough to get this right, and be what she believes I can be.