Writer's Market

Sent away for the newest Writer's Market book, which tells one how to get work published. Never submitted anything outside of college publications, wonder if the essay style I seem able to produce is worth anything outside of therapeutic rambling. Something new to try, either way.

Currently I am holding my breath for the diagnostic news on official paper from the physicians involved. The sleep center said the work was sent to my personal phys, whose office said they hadn't received it yet who could care less that my oxygen deprived brain is fizzing less than the remnants of three o'clock in the morning last call tonic and vodka with long-gone ice on the counter of that bar we used to go to in the seventies before heading out to a Your Host breakfast and bothering waitresses with stupid drunken ordering but leaving generous tips. I was going through an anti-religious backlash back then, with images that I was having a good time.

Really, this is a short post of rant about wanting results only because it feels like I have been in a closet with Grandma's winter coats muffling me. If this diagnosis falls through, it will only cause me to push forward harder, for there has been an experience of brightness caused by the night treatment during the polysomnography. Sorry this is boring. I am whining perhaps, but do not underestimate the excitement I have within. Life, breath, oxygen, ahead.