Revisions

The more I edit my book, the most I dislike it. I keep coming up with ideas of ways it could have been better if only I could do it over. I need to write. Editing is not my passion. Writing is. So I've decided to start writing a little story once a week just for fun. It probably won't make any sense or maybe it will. Who knows.


After several days of rain, the sun had finally decided to show its face again. I had thought about venturing out but then had reconsidered. I hadn't been outside in over two weeks. Why start now? I had finally turned my cell phone on yesterday and tried to call the voicemail but hung up after I heard 'You have 97 new messages'. I hadn't had 97 messages cumulative the entire time I had owned my phone. It proved my theory that no one ever called unless you weren't in the mood to talk.

I hadn't bothered calling in sick to work. I hoped they would understand. Who was I kidding? They had probably already sent me my walking papers. I wouldn't know though since I hadn't checked my mailbox. By now, they had probably hired some bubbly little girl straight out of college with an 'I can do anything better than you' attitude. What did I care? Work was the last thing I wanted to do.

I had watched enough of the Young & the Restless to feel like I lived in Genoa City. Their drama had become mine as I became engrossed in their crazy lives. One thing was for sure if I was writing for the soap, the storyline would be a lot better.

For the first few days, someone had kept coming to my door trying to get me to open up. I didn't. My family lived too far away so I knew it couldn't be them. Knowing my mom she had called the landlord or a local friend to have them come "check" up on me as she would have put it. I didn't need checking up on. I could tell her that. I was fine. Just fine. And no one would know any different.