Played with a kitten this morning: +50. Came home, got cramps, can't eat the chocolate: -900.

Another post up at the Cheese Ball.

I was going to try and put ads on it so that I could make a little extra money, but after checking, I really can't, because if I'm going to crack wise about cheesy music and post videos from YouTube the only way I could fall within the policy is to ask permission. Yeah, that'll happen.

So I put up a Paypal button instead. Screw it, it's the closest thing I've done to actual writing in weeks.

I think I even spot a personality.

Oh, hey, look, it's Ke$ha. (I'm not even joking. This is her singing with her brother, I imagine before she became famous.)

Shame, too. I would have loved her from the start if she sounded like this, rather than putting her first big hit on my MP3 players solely because of a Sherlock Holmes vid.

Status of the writer

The one bright mark of this entire week is that even though going to the dentist has resulted to me being four hundred bucks in debt to the guy, I haven't felt a lick of pain since about three hours after leaving his office for a short time after the novocaine wore off.

On the other hand, I'm blocked.

Oh, God, I'm so blocked it almost HURTS. Big Bang, apocalyptothon, WIPs ... nothing seems to want to come. I'm so blocked I haven't even been able to edit. That's bad.

In fact, the only creative thing I've managed to dredge up is The Cheese Ball, and me making snarky comments about cheesy songs really doesn't count as actual writing, except for the writing and the research and the brainstorming and ... okay, maybe it's sort of writing.

I just need to not be stressed, which -- what with recent events -- I don't see being remedied anytime soon. Fan-fucking-TASTIC.