Want to know what's really hard to listen to? A screaming baby. Like, inconsolable, ridiculously loud, I think somebody is probably trying to murder me, mommy why won't you fix it screaming. But apparently it's sometimes a good thing to let a baby sit and scream, because then they learn to comfort themselves or something, and learn something else about blah blah blah I don't know. Anyway. It's still hard to listen to. I want to pick her up and console her, but that has already been done quite a lot and she is definitely inconsolable. So now I get to listen to a screaming baby for an hour and a half until Jayna gets home from work. Perhaps she's cry herself to sleep, though she's already had three short naps today. Ok let's turn up the music and move on. *Pause here for a sec while I turn up the music...done. :)

So, I didn't get the job. Boo. But whatevs you just gotta get over it and move on. To be honest I didn't think I would get it because my practical interview went really badly. I got really nervous and forgot everything I was going to do. And really, it's been a long time since that interview so I'm not even bothered about it now. Just moving on.

I have been here with Kyle and Jayna and cute little Maren (Who has finally stopped crying and consented to taking a bottle. But it wasn't without much effort on the part of Kyle who gallantly endured her screaming while I came in here and turned up the music...)for almost three months. I hope that it's not going to be much longer because I am dying in this little room. There is just not enough space. I mean, I like staying with them, they're great, and we haven't hardly argued at all, it's just that there is not enough space for all of us, especially since I think Maren is going to need her own room starting in a couple of months. So I really need to get my life figured out and do something. But let's not think about that right now.

It is a rainy, rainy Saturday and I am bored out of my mind. There are things I SHOULD be doing but the thought of doing them is kind of nauseating so I am writing in this instead. All I can think about writing is things to complain about, and that would get cynical and pessimistic so I'm going to look up some story starters and write one of them for the end of this post instead.

story starter courtesy of http://writing-prompts-and-story-starters.blogspot.com/



"You're telling me that this is the bus?" said Detective Armstrong, jabbing a finger at the half-submerged wreck. "This is the bus we've been looking for? This is the bus that went missing just twenty-four hours ago?" He laughed, cold and flat, humorless, then took a final drag on his cigarette before dropping it into the sand and scuffing it out with his heel, violently, as if it was the source of all his woes. "What the hell happened here?"

 "Damned if I know." the cop replied. "That's why we called you." He was a young fellow, mid-twenties or early thirties at the most. His blonde hair ruffled in the breeze and he shifted uncomfortably in his shoes, as he gazed at the wreck of a bus.
"Well that's just it isn't it?" At this distance Armstrong could just make out the number on the bus: 421. He rolled his eyes, annoyed. "We're just expected to figure everything out. Just call us up and we'll solve all your problems."
"That's what I was told, sir." the officer replied. Stevens, Armstrong remembered. That was his name. "You guys deal with all the weird stuff."
Armstrong snorted. "That's what you were told huh? Well, I wish they wouldn't tell you that. It's not like we have any more intel then you. We just use our brains and have a fancier name." He laughed again, but stopped fairly quickly when Stevens didn't reply.
"Well, let's take a look." He sighed as he started toward the bus. The damp sand squelched under his shoes as Armstrong ducked under the yellow tape and approached the skeletal remains of the bus. He cursed softly as he approached and got a first look at the the morbid remains inside. This was the stuff of nightmares and CSI reruns. Things like this didn't actually happen in real life. At least the bus was on the outskirts of town and not smack downtown where it would attract the attention of screaming citizens and rabid news reporters.


Ok just writing that much took me like 45 minutes. That's my problem with writing. It takes me a long time to write things, and then I have to go back and re-write them over and over. One of these days I'm going to take a writing class. But it is not this day. This day, I need to finish this up and actually do something productive with my life. So this is me, finishing up.