A Real Record Breaker

I cannot remember the last time I felt this bad without heartbreak being involved. I'm so miserable right now I feel like I could vomit. Not an exaggeration. Actual nausea.

I've been on a waiting list for writing classes for months, now. Specifically, How To Write For SNL. (If you don't know what SNL is, you have no business reading this blog.) I have been a fan of that show since I was twelve. Fantasies of starring on (or being in any way involved with) it were part of the reason I moved up here: To chase those dreams.

The minute I heard about the class, I knew I wanted in. It was sold out at the time. Today my inbox held a bombshell: the class is being offered again.

The timing could not be worse. It could, however, be better. If I'd gotten this information, say, three weeks from now, I would be able to sign up for the class, paid in full. But I heard about it today. Can't afford it. Not even close.

I hold no illusions that taking the class would pave the way to working on Saturday Night Live. But at least I would know how to apply. My writing would potentially be in better shape. I'd have a better direction in which to push myself. I've been here over a year and my direction has been almost non-existant.

I'm a bit angry with myself. If I were better with money, I wouldn't be in the mess I'm in now. I'm livid. I could sign up for the damned class and that'd be the end of it.

I have no idea when the class will be offered again. Probably in another few months. There's no guarantees. No promises.

Yes, it occurred to me to ask to borrow the money; but I won't. I can't. I've already tapped family enough in times of emergency; as important as this is to me it isn't actually vital to anything. I hate borrowing money for serious things; there's no away I'd do it for icing.

Damn it. Damn it. I'll get over it. Writing this out helps somewhat. Still. Damnation.

Oh yeah. I am sterling company right now.