mychai's Diaryland Diary

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Two weeks of not writing, and when I finally do, you get this:

Hey, folks. I haven't left you yet.

Actually, I write to bring you bad, bad news.

It has returned.

The big "H". The 'roid. Roid Rage is here, baby, and it ain't leaving.

For those of you who are new, I'm not talking about steroids. I'm talking about the other 'roid.

You know... of the Hemmor- ilk.

And now, the flashback...

Ever since I was nine or ten, I would get a good case of the roids about twice per year. They would sometimes come on so strong that I would develop a fever and feel sick for several days. After the fever would break, I would be left with two months of ass-searing pain. Being shy and embarrassed about my body, I wouldn't dare bring up to my dear mother that I had ass bubbles that needed immediate attention. I was quite ok with being in intense pain for two months at a time so my mother wouldn't know too much about my butthole.

In my teens, the roids did this really cool thing where they would bust and I would bleed constantly for weeks. I became quite talented in stuffing my tighty-whities with rolls of toilet paper.

But still, I was too embarrassed to go see anybody about it.

This all went on for 10-15 years. Finally, about two years ago, I had my own health insurance and was sick of bleeding for weeks at a time. How you girls do it is beyond me.

So, I went to the doctor and had the most humiliating surgery experience ever. I would link to the entry that talked about it, but damned if I didn't ever write about it.

Now, we are back to today's date. The flashback is over.

I thought when I had the surgery, they removed certain parts of "down there" so I would never have the roids again. But I found out yesterday that this just isn't the case.

Same scenario: fever, fatigue, butt fire. Remember those old athlete's foot commercials where they would spray the "Tuff Actin' Tenactin" on the toes that were flaming up like last night's BBQ? That's about what my bottom feels like.

I'll make an appointment for the doctor's office tomorrow. Until then, I am taking two prescription Motrin pills (800mg, I believe) and two Alieve. Hopefully -- hopefully -- that will numb the pain a little.


I don't write for two weeks. And when I finally do, you get a story about hemmoroids.

I honestly have no clue why you read this lump of crap.


I made a new year's resolution to actually get paid to write this year. I did one of those backward goal things that go something like this:

7. See my name in print next to an article I wrote.
6. Send my finished article in for editing and publication.
5. Do extensive reporting asking good questions and making a lot of good observations.
4. Get assigned a project for a magazine.
3. Send a query letter to a magazine editor proposing an idea with an interesting angle.
2. Come up with an idea for an article idea for a magazine that interests me.
1. Read through "Writer's Market 2005" for a list of magazines I would be interested writing for.

That way you can envision yourself at the very end, and work yourself down saying, "Now, what do I need to do to get this goal accomplished?"

It's a very effective way to set a series of goals to accomplish a greater goal.

I sent a query letter to Boys' Life (which you can read here) and one to German Life. I also sent four poems and two short stories from my collection to a magazine called something like "Generation X Journal Magazine" or somewhere along those lines. They like essays, poems, short stories, etc., from those of us lucky enough to be in the so-called slacker generation.

I'm wanting to send out enough to have twelve queries out at one time. If you have any ideas about an article you'd like to read, send them along.

I'm thinking of sending out proposals to wedding magazines about getting married in Denmark and Switzerland. Because... you know... they are close.


Another new year's resolution is another walking goal.

I want to walk to France.

This isn't a really huge goal since France is only 30-40 miles away. That's only two days of walking. It's especially short considering the average housewife walks ten miles a day doing chores.

Ten miles a day. Just doing chores.

Go hug yo' mama, child.

After I walk to France, maybe I'll walk to Switzerland. Now that's a hefty goal.


And, I'm getting married in March.Thank you, goodbye!

3:48 p.m. - Tuesday, Jan. 18, 2005

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