whiny bitch

so i think i'm going to give in and whine just a little right here, right quick.
i don't need excessive whining space, just a tiny bit of air for my tiny little grievance. not that i'm by any means complaining of stress or suggesting that i don't enjoy every mouthful of my life, but even the luckiest of us have minor frustrations.
i feel like that paragraph was much ado about nothing.
so out with it then.

i'm frustrated by my so-far-failure to get published in america.
not that being published in america is a goal for me, but it's where i temporarily reside, and my job hunting is naturally localised. (well, i'm looking @ telecommuting jobs too, but nothing in either department yet.)
at home i wrote for a newspaper and a theatre company. i did alright for myself. here, i write solely for my own entertainment. and even if i don't know my stories until ink hits the pages, the instant each letter is fully formed it becomes old news for me.
i'm not asking for insta-retirement-riches (not that i'd turn that down), just for work that pays me to choose words to string together pleasingly. or teasingly, or surprisingly, or engagingly, or all of the above.

waaaaaaaaaaaa!

i wish i could convince the radio station freelance gig that they need me in a more semi-permanent fashion. or rather, that they could convince their money-men to pay for me.
i love that gig. i spent last week researching and writing about intersex and genitally ambiguous conditions- learn something new every day there...

it may be time for me to get back to posting my work in this blog. i'll see how i feel...
thank you for listening.
walk good.