In the lift, no one can hear you scream!

My more avid readers may remember (or a few blogs back), I talked about being published... After nearly 2 years, I FINALLY got confirmation that the article that I wrote on behalf of my company for a certain publication, would not be published after all. The whole project was scrapped.

I am gutted!

So here it is, in all its glory. (the company I work for has been taken out on the first line due to privacy) Enjoy!

How many ****** employees can you fit in a lift? Well on this occasion the answer is one. Sadly it wasn’t just a case of fitting; it was a case of being stuck. On this particular day, the lift just didn’t want to let me go. Working in a sixteen floor building has its difficulties at the best of times such as the lift stopping on every floor as people get in and out or the lift not coming at all because people on the floors above and below are you getting in and out. Sometimes it’s like waiting for a bus; you can be there for an eternity and three show up at once.

It was a rare occasion that I left the office on time that day, yes this would be the day when I didn’t have to run to Piccadilly station and board the train a red faced, sweaty mess. I was feeling pretty good. Inboxes were empty, pending less than five and the internal inquiries, were up to date. Turning on my iPod and listening to Lady Gaga I hit the red, down button and waited. The gods were smiling on me because *ping*, the lift showed up immediately and I walked inside it. We all know how a lift works, you press number of the floor you wish to go to, the doors close and off you go right? Wrong! The doors did close however, the lift jerked and nothing, bearing in mind I was lost in a world of music and thoughts of the Chinese food I was going to order once I was home. I don’t think I noticed that I hadn’t moved for at least a minute, maybe even two. I pulled my ear phones out, confused.

Silence! Why does the display still say 11th floor? I immediately hit the ground floor button again *jerk* followed by the very calming lift lady voice said "11th floor". Wash rinse repeat... still nothing. I wasn’t moving an inch. I began hitting the ground button repeatedly in frustration. So the display still showed that I was on the 11th floor. I’ll just open the doors and get out then right? Yeah, the gods weren’t smiling on me anymore. The doors refused to budge. Oh what I wouldn’t have given for a crow bar at the very moment. I looked at my phone for the time.

3.36pm

I’d only been in here for 6 minutes? It felt like longer. Could I still make my train? Of course I could! It didn’t come for another twenty one minutes. The sense of defiance that had shrouded me so quickly was just as swiftly followed by panic. Of course I was going to miss it; it comes in TWENTY ONE MINUTES!!!!!

A nervous laugh escaped my lips as the gravity of the situation began to dawn on me. Images of the opening scene of the film Speed flashed through my mind and I was convinced any minute now either the floor was going to have a hole blown in it or Keanu Reeves was going to shimmy down the lift shaft upside down and save me. Either that or no one would know I was in here and I’d be stuck in the building ‘til morning. I quickly did a mental check of any supplies I had on me. A bottle of water, a pack of chewing gum and half a packet of sugar snap peas. Maybe not enough to survive a zombie apocalypse but I was sure they would get me through the night. You may scoff at my thoughts but it’s amazing what goes through your mind at a time like that.

 3.39pm

I spied the yellow button with the bell on it, otherwise known as the alarm button. I wasn’t quite sure why I hadn’t hit it before. Maybe it’s just that good old British stiff upper lip? Heaven forbid I might make a scene. I wasn’t really stuck in the lift! I honestly still believed right up until that point that it was something I was doing wrong. I wasn’t hitting the right button or pressing it correctly. Maybe I was pressing it too hard? Oh just press the alarm button will ya?

I expected a bell, I really did. Talk about false advertising! It was more like a car horn and not as loud as expected. Was anyone even going to hear this pathetic excuse for a noise? Apparently not because after five minutes of pressing it enough but not excessively, again, not wanting to annoy anyone by my obvious need for attention, still no one came to my aid. I pressed it once more and mentally scolded myself for pressing it a little too long. I had decided that this would be the last time I did. The sound was beginning to annoy me.

Silence and then the lights went out. Just wonderful!

I sat on the floor making sure that my new boots didn’t touch it. My coat I could wash, my boots I could not and they were new and my latest pride and joy. The floor was particularly grubby as it would be. I made a mental calculation of how many people would actually use this lift in a day, then a month and just as I strained my brain to calculate the yearly foot traffic a voice from the heavens spoke to me.

"Are you ok?"

My immediate reaction was one of a sarcastic comment bordering on hysteria but getting panicked now would help no one and I was already heading towards the title of "girl who got stuck in the lift" I didn’t want to also be the "girl who had a complete mental break down whilst stuck in the lift." I meekly if not a little nervously replied "I’m fine." I tried my hardest to listen to the man who had come to save me, turns out he hadn’t and he was in fact just a messenger and he was just here to relay to me that the man who was going to save was possibly stuck in traffic and would get round to saving me in twenty five minutes. I looked at my phone again.

3.48pm

Yeah, I wasn’t going to be making the train and suddenly I was ok with that. Now the more pressing issue was what on earth was I going to do for twenty five minutes? I grabbed my phone again and checked. Yes!!! I had signal. Yes!!! I had internet. I must Instagram, Facebook and tweet this to everyone I know immediately! The world must know about my ordeal! Ok maybe not, but I did Instagram myself on the floor of the lift as the whole interior is either mirrors or reflective surfaces. It was a great picture even if I do say so myself.

By this point cabin fever was setting in and the prospect of being in here for another twenty minutes was just too much to bear. I dialed one of the managers I work with there. After a three minute conversation consisting of…

"Sibby, I’m stuck in the lift".
"You’re what?"
"I’m stuck in the lift".
"Where?"
"Where do you think? In the lift shaft!"
"Which lift shaft?"
"The one in the building"
"Which building?"
"Our building!!!"

The immediate response was one of hysterical laughter. I then questioned why I phoned this particular manager when I knew he would think the whole situation was ridiculously funny. Listening to him howl down the phone I knew why I phoned him. This was completely funny and I began to laugh myself silly with him. It was then I heard more voices from above including the Sibby’s so I hung up and yelled that I could hear him. It seems I was drawing quite a crowd behind those doors. Oh the shame! Couldn’t they just leave me here until everyone went home? Did anyone else in the building have to witness my humiliation? There suddenly felt like there was a massive stigma attached to being incarcerated in a hanging metal box. I consoled myself that at least it wasn’t a glass one so I wouldn’t be watched like a goldfish in a bowl. At this point I figured I might just as well play a game on my phone.

Just then I heard a scratching sound, then a creak and a slow rumble. Maybe it was my stomach? I was getting hungry; after all I had been in here for a whole thirty one minutes! The lift doors then began to part and a sense of relief washed over me as I saw the first human face in what seemed like an eternity with an almost blinding light behind him, smiling at me, with an almost bemused expression. Was there anyone who didn’t think this was funny? Ok, so he was no Keanu Reeves but at that moment he looked like an angel to me. Suddenly it dawned on me; I was still on the 11th floor!  The stupid lift hadn’t moved an inch, even a quarter of an inch and here was me thinking I was suspended perilously between two floors! Looking past the angel I saw manager Sibby with a huge grin on his face, still laughing, stood next to a concerned looking voice from the heavens who I now know was Ian the Human Resources manager, and beyond them, three of my co-workers looking highly amused.

3.59pm

Looking back to my angel I laughed, “Well you took your bleedin’ time didn’t ya?” I bet he’s heard worse and he was still smiling as he held the doors open for me to leave. I got up off the grubby floor brushing off my coat and checking my boots, relieved to find there wasn’t a mark on them. After Ian ensured I was ok; I playfully hit Sibby on the arm, regretting it instantly as I was going to need him to take a different lift with me so I could leave the building. The idea of getting in alone wasn’t one I was ready to entertain at that moment. Of course he agreed without hesitation but I distinctly heard a low chuckle as we got in and traveled down eleven floors. Exiting the building I breathed a sigh of relief and quickly headed towards my favourite coffee place for a medicinal cappuccino. Ok I had missed my train but I was free!

On Monday, well of course everyone knew about the incident and teased me about it constantly but it only lasted for the day and part of Tuesday and a couple of occasions on Wednesday.

As for the lift, well it’s now working perfectly as far as I know but now when that particular one arrives to take me to my destination, I wait for the next one.

The only thing wrong with religion is the people who follow it...

"je suis Paris...."

See if there's one thing that these middle eastern nut fucks are proving time and time again, is that they may call themselves Muslims, but they are not. They are nothing more that a deranged cult.

"A cult is defined as a system which venerates one particular individual, ideal or object. They can be a select group of fanatics, or a group of misguided outsiders whose ideals have segmented them from the norm. Many cults don’t begin as dangerous sects – and in fact, if asked, those involved with them wouldn’t describe their group as a cult at all. However, many cults have sinister or extreme agendas that are so far outside they norm they become dangerous. This manifests in mass-suicides, brainwashing, extremist behavior, attacks, abductions, extortion and vandalism."

Remind you of anyone?

Look at their bat shit crazy predecessors...

Scientology - nuff said!
The Ku Klux Klan - racist murderers
Branch Davidians - Got themselves shot and blown up. However, the jury is still our whether or not they deserved it.
Moonies - probably dropped way too much acid in the 70's

... they're all deranged!

Just because ISIS they say they're Muslims... I can say I'm a unicorn but it doesn't make it true.

Don't get me wrong, Islam isn't without its problems. Their track record of women's and children's human rights alone is enough to make your skin crawl. However, you can honestly say that about many recognized religions... just look at Catholicism, stories of pedophiles handing out bread and wine on Sundays and touching small boys every other day of the week to name just one. And what is with the no condom thing? (ah, maybe they just want an excess of boys being born. I get it now). Hell, even your good ole Mormon's would still be recognized as a cult if it wasn't for some excellent and no doubt expensive PR work.

But I myself, choose not to judge a group or race of people by the actions of the few. I refuse to brand all Muslims as terrorists. By doing so, you are creating a divide in which ISIS seek to create. I will continue to do so no matter who, no matter what.

Saying that, should we allow tens of thousands of Syrian refugees into our countries? The media will lead you to believe that there are terrorists hidden among them. And you know what? They're probably right! But the terrorists have been gaining entry into our countries since before 9/11, as students, as business men, as tourists.

I am in two minds. I am on the fence. How can we possibly take more people when we already have hungry and homeless that we are unable to take care of? When we have veterans that fought to keep us safe at great cost, have no roof above their heads, no food in their stomachs?

But we cannot not take them. We cant leave them to suffer and die. They are the innocents. They are as innocent as the people who died in Paris on Friday and the numerous people who have died in attacks before them.

So what do we do? I actually don't have an answer or an opinion quite frankly. (shocked?)

All I do know is that this is the time to come together. This is the time for every man woman and child to stand against these absolute fucking retarded scum bags (I,m holding back, can you tell?) It is us against them. End of. It is US against THEM. We are at war.

Anyways... this is just my two cents.

You jump, I jump Jack!

Yes, a quote from one of the biggest movies of all time... Titanic. SPOILER ALERT!!!!

It sinks.

Jack and Rose's story, if you think about it was the epitome of most relationships. There was the flirtatious first meeting, passion, romance, realising that the other person is truly the missing half of your soul, drama, a jealous ex and the whole thing goes to shit because one of you wont share a floating piece of wood which ultimately leaves the other one to freeze to death in ice cold water.

You know Mythbusters did the experiment in San Francisco bay with an exact replica of that board. Jamie Hyneman and Adam Savage managed to bust the myth (kinda) by proving they could both get on the board (after a lot of faffing around) and stay afloat. Ha! Take that Rose you selfish bitch.

Relationships... aren't they supposed to get easier? Honestly, I really cannot be bothered and have loathed immensely the game of dating. Dates to me feel more like job interviews with lousier prospects and the only Christmas bonus on offer is a quick grope in the stationery cupboard. See I had the crazy notion that relationships would get easier as I got older. I'm obviously one sandwich short of a picnic because they really don't. The older you get, the more baggage people seem to have (whether that physical or mental) and there is usually a veritable minefield of problems that ensue. I do not exclude myself either, I'm by no means perfect. Hell I have carry on and excess but I have now learned at the ripe ole age of 36 to leave the whole kit and caboodle in lost luggage.

Maybe this is why we see so many dating shows on television. Reality TV, as my more avid readers will know, is not my thing. There is nothing more mind numbing and infuriating than this genre and the shows that fall in this category. The utter crap these morons spew whilst getting their five minutes of fame. Not to mention their lack of social decency and moral standards. Their fake personalities and "shrink speak" leaves me wanting to stab myself with a spoon. And by shrink speak I mean "I feel that..." and "your words hurt..." whilst quoting verbatim from their copy of Psychology for Dummies".

Sadly the dating shows we have now are all of the above and more. Also the women on those shows act like, well, complete whores to attract the attention of the man they're trying to steal away from the other 25 whores stood in the studio with them. Yes I know that is the nature of the show but puhleeeez! Its embarrassing. And I will clarify because I have said before... the state of "whore" as I see it is not by the amount of people you've slept with. That is between you and your mattress. Whore is the way you conduct yourself. The way you act and unfortunately I have to say sometimes the way you dress. There is a time and place for the public display of breasts and it isn't 9-5 in the office. Although I realise by saying that there will be a great many men wanting to apply for a job where I work.

Wow don't I sound like a old fashioned stick in the mud? Honestly, I'm not.  I am a very proud lady in public and a slut in the bedroom and not afraid to admit it (unless I'm in the company of my good friends who know me well enough not to pay any heed when the subject of sex inevitably creeps into the conversation after a few drinks or late night chat)

Anyways... back to the dating shows... If they are the "lucky" chosen one and end up on a date with this obvious Prince Charming (he cant be that much of a catch if he's on a dating show, can he?), there's more sexual innuendo than a Carry On movie and you're left wondering if they even come good. Half of these guys could sue them for false advertising especially once you see them without the make up on that was so expertly applied with a trowel for the show.

In closing, you could go by the old cliché that "its only as complicated as you make it" and yes, I try and live my life by that but I'm finding more and more that it simply comes down to "I'm too old for this shit"

Ooops, I did it again!

Ok, I know. I suck. I'm despicable.

I said I would be here more and I have let you down once more. I apologise profusely and I will accept my punishment (FYI, I like paddles. Just sayin!)

So once again it has been a wickedly busy time. I finally had my surgery and I am now minus an organ. A useless organ but alas, I now feel a void within me that can only be filled by pizza and Chinese food. Or in other words, they finally took out my gallbladder and I feel fantastic. I can eat whatever I want again. The only downside is that I've gained 10lbs.

I also went back to America. TWICE! I went over for 7 days in March then another 10 in August. Obsessed much? Erm YUP! My trips there are always epically amazing. I shall return as soon as my finances allow.

Add to that a busy work schedule, I really haven't had much time to come here and rant and believe me when I say I have had more than a few occasions over the last few months where I've needed a good old venting session.

I have missed you and I promise... PROMISE... I will be back regularly.

I must blog more.
I must blog more.
I must blog more.
I must blog more.
I must blog more.
I must blog more.
I must blog more.
I must blog more.

Punishment fits the crime me thinks...

I must blog more.
I must blog more.
I must blog more.

See you soon.

“I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens.”

- Woody Allen

I have yet another funeral to attend on Friday. Yes, it seems that I have reached that age where I am attending more funerals than weddings. Quite frankly, Id rather go to a funeral.

I dont do death well. By this I mean, I dont cry hysterically for days or lay in bed for days depressed. Although I have questioned from time to time why. Yes, I do cry eventually. It will hit me a week later, maybe even a month and the tears will fall for a few minutes or maybe even an hour but mostly Im about the stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on kinda gal.

My first memory of death was my father's mother. She was a marvellous woman if not a little scary at times. I was 10 when she died and I was pulled out of my class at school and told the awful news by my mother as she collected me and took me home. The fearless, untouchable women who once yelled at the chap who owned the local shop because Id complained that my chocolate bar tasted funny and she was convinced the thing had gone off, had had a heart attack and then she was gone. I wasn't quite sure how I should be feeling so I didn't. No one said it was ok to to cry or not ok to cry. By the time I got home and saw just what a state my father was in, I guess I didn't want to be an inconvenient, blubbering mess and my mother had her hands full trying to get him to eat, hell even speak, so I just went to my room and played with my toys as I would any other normal day.

Since then Ive lost a great many family members (we are a rather large family) and my composure and inner serenity sometimes even astounds me. Over the years it has horrified, even offended some but this is just what I do. Two years ago I lost my last surviving grandmother who I was ridiculously close to and still I went to work and just "got on with it." The company offered me time off, which I declined. They just couldn't understand why I didn't wanna go home for a few days. Actually it got bloody annoying being asked all the time "Are you ok?" Even now, I don't feel sad when I think of her. To me she is still in her chair, in the corner of her living room playing bingo on her laptop and complaining about that TV chef (Ainsley Harriott) who touches the food with his fingers too much.

Maybe you could say that I choose to privately grieve or even that words are my tears. I have always had a diary or some kind of blog for my adolescent and adult life and I always feel it is respectful to document in some way shape or form, the person's passing. Even if you cant find the words yourself, the internet is a wonderful thing and you can easily find a poem or a quote that touches you and that you can share.

So these are my tears Uncle Ernie. These are shed here for you.

Sticks and stones...

Kids can be cruel. We all know this. Hell I'm sure everyone has a story from their childhood of naming calling or a physical altercation with another kid. I know I do. For a brief period in my childhood I was bullied.

More, now than ever we see the stories on the news of children who have chosen suicide as their only option to end their suffering and every time their stories break my heart. I read one today about Cora Delille, 15 year old girl from Ohio that did the very same thing. She believed that her only way out was to end her own life.

There were other factors also, this isn't just a bullying issue. The story reads that she broke up with her boyfriend and her parents were getting a divorce so you have to of course take these into account but what the hell is happening to our children? What turns my stomach the most that even after this poor girl had died, they still continued their attacks on her. Posting comments about her in various internet forums. If a guy can make a joke about an airport being blown up on Twitter and face criminal charges then why aren't these little bastards being dragged to a police station. Even if nothing comes of it, a short sharp shock might do them good and make them think before they post a nasty comment on someone else's Facebook wall or send someone else a disgusting text. They should not be allowed to think that this is acceptable behaviour. What the hell happened to personal responsibility? They should bring back the fucking cane for shit like this.

I see time and time again on Twitter and Facebook, young adults bleating about hard life is and crying about trivial dramas. Most of the time I just want to scream at them "Welcome to the real world cupcake! Fun isn't it? Now a grow a fucking backbone and a thicker skin and stop fucking complaining" Its all too easy to see them as spoilt, whiny little bitches. Its difficult to remember that they live in a very different word to the one we grew up in 20+ years ago. They are constantly bombarded with images and information from a young ages. Most children now can work a computer before they learn how to make a sandwich. Ive lost track of the amount of under 5's Ive met who already have iphones.

Its easy to to sound like old Uncle Bill at a family reunion and say "back in my day..." but I find myself doing it. Back in my day we could switch off. When we went outside to play with our friends. We didn't permanently have a cell phone glued to our hands, we just played. Our brains got that down time from TV and learning at school and we used them more creatively. We used our imaginations, we had sword fights with sticks, we built forts and tree houses... Hey, I'm not saying that kids didn't kill themselves back then... I know for a fact they did but I would challenge anyone who disagrees that there isn't a link between the amount of information we now take in daily and the state of our mental health. 

Last year a study was done into how Facebook causes depression (no this is not me doing my usual FB bashing) I'm not normally one to listen to the various studies that are released what seems like every frickin week. One minute they're telling you to eat chocolate, then they're saying that chocolate causes cancer, then they're saying drink more wine, then they're telling you that you'll grow gills if you drink too much... bleh... come on! Why don't we just stop breathing? What will that do? Were all gonna die eventually anyways so I will eat as much chocolate as I like and drink as much wine as I like and then at least Ill be able to swim to America twice a year and it'll save me fucking fortune on flights!!!

But back to the study... They claimed it also caused  the “fear of missing out.” Made people feel inadequate when their friends posted pictures of vacations or had been on a shopping spree or even pictures of their children or as they put it "adorable children." So if you wanna make your friends jealous you cant do it if your kids are ugly? Makes sense I guess. Sorry but I am not one of these people who thinks all children are beautiful but I'm not bitch enough to recoil in terror when I meet you first born for the first time and he/she has a face like Sloth from The Goonies.

Maybe that's it, maybe that is all we need to instill in our children... the age old saying "If you cant say anything nice then don't say anything at all" because it seems that "stick and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me" has failed. 


Read the full story about Cora Delille here -

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/ohio-teen-penned-suicide-note-reading-thanks-pain-article-1.1799847

Why do today what you can do tomorrow?

I have many faults. Many, many, MANY faults. Who doesn't right? I think the one that annoys me the most about myself is my ability to procrastinate. Oh boy! If it was an Olympic sport, I would get gold every time. Hell, Id even have my own line in sports wear and be endorsing Pepsi. (ew, maybe not)

My avid readers will know that I wrote a book. Yup, lil ole me put pen to paper or rather fingers to keyboard and finally completed my manuscript... 8 YEARS AGO... since then it has been sat on a hard drive. Hey, its no War and Peace but reading through it just recently, I still got a good feeling about it. See up until a few months ago, I had a legitimate reason (or at least I thought it was legitimate) for it just staying where it was, never to be seen by the general public. As I have said before, I have a crippling fear of rejection and I'm convinced that it is a master piece and will not be told different.

Whilst I was working away I was asked by my boss if I would like to write a small article for a small publication. My boss of course didnt know that I write, hell, I wouldnt dare let anyone I work with see the verbal diarrhoea that vomit here for fear of being sacked! I actually question sometimes whether the word is prepared for my insane ramblings... but anyways, it was to be in a blog format, (ding ding ding) a entertaining and humorous story about working away (yup, I can be entertaining and funny) and they needed it by 4.30pm the next day. Nice deadline huh? Good job I work well under pressure!

So that night I set to it, writing the piece about when I was trapped in the lift a couple of weeks previous. (Real story. In the top 10 list of the worst 30 minutes of my life. It actually ranks somewhere in the middle between a blind date I went on and THE worst sex Ive ever had. I will also add that both situations were not on the same day) However, as talented and amazing as I am, I wasnt able to finish it that night so set off uber early the next day and spent 2 hours before work in a Nero coffee shop in the middle of Manchester writing the rest of it and proof reading it until I practically knew it off by heart. Of course being as talented and amazing as I am, (hey, I am. Shut it!) I emailed it over to my boss at 10am that day. I didnt hear anything til the Monday after when curiosity got the better of me and I gave boss a call. I was dying to know what he thought, even if it was going to be practical for the publication. Bear in mind this was the first time Id written a blog piece without saying the word fuck or whore or bastard or any other of the multitude of colourful language that is in my vocabulary and often makes it into my blogs here.

All I can say is, after that phone call I have never smiled so much in my life. I felt like I was 10 years old again and just unwrapped my Barbie dream house on Christmas day.

Not only had my boss read it but the BIG boss had read it also and some of the other managers and they loved it! The question was then asked, "Do you write professionally? Because that article is fantastic" (Let me just say, at that point I was grinning like Id now just unwrapped anatomically correct Ken too. Not the one with the plastic underpants, the one with the asexual plastic bulge) The rest of the day I was beaming which of course attracted some questions and funny looks from my co workers who each took turns reading what Id written and there was no sight more satisfying than watching their faces and hearing their chuckles as they read through it.

Now because I'd name two of my co workers in the article who happened to be present at my incarceration in the lift, (they weren't in there with me, they were outside it) I wanted their permission to be mentioned. I of course didn't know at that point who would be reading it or where it would be published so thought it was just polite to make sure they were ok with it. It was then I saw the human resources manager, who was one of the named and agreed to email him a copy of it so he could see exactly how and when he was mentioned. Well, the next thing I know, he's walking up to me in the office with an expression on his face that I just couldnt fathom. Was he happy? Was he annoyed? My immediate thought was "Fuck! What did I do?"

The first question out of his mouth was "Do you write professionally? Because if you dont then you should do!" He then revealed that he was currently in the process of having his own book published. OMG not only did I get Barbie's dream house and the anatomically correct Ken but I got the pink convertible with the private licence plate too!!!!! Was this like the best day ever?? So when I told him about my book he immediately wanted to read it and urged me to start the ball rolling with the publishing thing.

That was January... what have I done with my book? Erm, ziltch. Its still sat on my computer, although as I said, I have read through it and spell checked it again but yup, its still there... unread... UGH. I disgust myself. Captain Procrastination strikes again. What the hell am I waiting for? Whats stopping me? Shouldnt that day have been proof enough to me that people might just like what Ive written or will I forever let my fear keep me from possible greatness?

I love writing, it is my one true passion. I love that people get pleasure from reading my bizarre and random prattle. I dont for one minute believe that my work can inspire a generation. I highly doubt that I will be the next Sue Townsend (although she has had a huge influence on me, may she rest in peace) or be as brilliant as J.K Rowling. I am by no means a master of the English language and when I frequently have brain farts so huge that they could be detected by a richtor scale, I rely heavily on Thesaurus.com But what a dream it is to be able do this every day, to be able to live off my words and so I ask again...

What am I waiting for?