It's almost one a.m. and I can't sleep. I can't stop crying. I am so ashamed. How could I have failed so badly? That book is so bad. I don't mean like a cool book is bad or a first book is bad. I mean, it is so bad. It is so lost, it is so ugly. I am reading passages at random and I cannot believe what they did. What I allowed them to do. Why didn't I fight harder? Why did I let this to happen? I am scrolling back through original texts, how kindly, how heartedly I wrote them. How much I actually loved what I was writing about. And I scroll back and read this and I just cry and cry and cry. Please Gods. Please. I am so ashamed. Fate trusted me with a book and I fucked up so badly. I am so ashamed. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. 

Third day of delays.
Feeling pretty much fucked up beyond words. I'm so exhausted.

Good thing the editor wanted mostly my photos as opposed to Shutterstock, because I really don't think even these 10% that are in now would make the final cut otherwise. Lucky me. Makes one wonder why the fuck I wasted money and time travelling around taking photos? Why they told me to shoot activities is beyond me. The book now is made of pretty pretty pictures of landscape and flowers. Can't compete with Shutterstock, oh no.

Time to rething my photographic career. She already told me to rething the writing one. Maybe consider the "bend over and get fucked in the ass" one? That one sounds about right.

Two days late to the printers. Last finishing touches. Like, last last.

One more day.

Drej and I are picking up the Gorgonaut where we left off. Full throttle on.

I love this painting. It's on my wishlist. If I actually get paid any time in the near far-future, I may just end up trying to buy it.

Been thinking on what makes me happy. What makes me happy is being angry, actually. Lately I've been angry all the time. But the jizz is, I am not allowed to be angry; it's impolite. I am more expected to skip that one and go straight to defeated sadness and despondent regrets. The hollow stuff. Not the broken wood stuff.

As emotions go, I am very basic colours. Hysterically so, in fact. I am mostly really happy. I can even be actively content (say, after a meal.) But on the opposite side, the sadness, disappointment and rage run molten. Today I nigh broke my wrist hitting the desk repeatedly. My drawing wrist, obviously. A tendon gave, but the swelling has subsided by now. Two more days.

More importantly, I am building my happy place. So far I only have fragments of the scene, but they are very solid. The ground is the flatland desert, not sand, but littered with those black, iron rich meteorites that are common in Morocco south (and that i have walked up and down profusely.). I am walking there, in good shoes, and it's after sunset, so it's not painfully hot anymore. Or I am sitting down under an improvised tent between my backpack and an umbrella, a tent made of Araby and foil blanket. I am smoking my pipe, writing in my journal. Or I am walking, my hair is long and red, my turban is orange still, billowing in the hot dry wind. That is my most happy place. My desert. NOBODY anywhere. Not even me, almost. I can walk for endless days if I like. I can get lost a hundred times (though not really, because there's a mountain I'm keeping as an orientation and I'm kind of walking around it in a really wide berth.) That is where my sanity feels the most safe.

Or I could just be really corny and climb on top of the General's chest in my mind and hide there. But I am actually not that little.And I do that anyway.

F&F6 review, in a hurry

 What's good in it:

- the cars are very beautiful
- that tank was pretty awesome, even though it was fiction (M1A1 plus action movie makeup)
- every person was extremely beautiful and as always the most recommended liaison for the international police operation was a 22 year old underwear model
- I love seeing Antonov in any movie
- goes as well for Jason Statham
- Michele Rodriguez (or at least half of her, as she now seems to weight about as much as a daffodil.) She was lovely.
- LOL, Hobbs is called Samoan Thor :)))

What was good FOR the movie:

- Good thing the car population of Cayman Isles is only two cars (that would have been very disturbing driving to go see a baby born if there were three and one coming in the opposite direction.)
- Good thing the Tokyo/London population is devoid of any urban traffic and so used to high speed racing, two hundred people at a pedestrian crossing can simply step aside when a race car drifts through them at 300 km per hour
- Good thing all the characters have bones made of adamantium, because it would really hurt to fall down an entire flight of subway stairs, not to mention being hit in mid air by a cannoning 300 pound man's body - and you're a 100 pound girl. And then landing with the man on top.
- Good thing average airport runways are 60 kilometres long
- Good thing in this day and age 'might makes right' still applies in police interrogation
- Good thing people talk like this in real life. It would be kind of stupid otherwise.

What's really bad in it:

- Really really bad script. Consisting mostly of 'Dom and O'Connor race through the first scene for fifteen minutes'. 'Dom and O'Connor and Co. race through the next scene for fifteen minutes.'. 'Bitch fight/male.' 'Bitch fight/female.' 'Quo some semblance of joke.' 'Dom and O'Connor race the scene for fifteen minutes.' Rinse and repeat.
- acting. Minor exceptions, but mostly pretty godawful. Excellent driving, though.
- When the extra pretty ex-Mossad supermodel racing lady falls from the air plane to protect her Korean partner, in the end he's just kind of struck and sad about it... Wouldn't it be a remotely rational possibility to race back just to hold her.. Or you know, find her body just in case she landed on the grass, rolled and is still breathing?
- Collateral damage both human and automobile is quite tasteless
- Mocking the British guy for having hair on his chest. Yes, cause grown men with shaved armpits and waxed chests is that much more erotic.
- Laws of physics? Yes? No?
- tank on bridge
- people pointing guys at either entire police squad and/or entire army base
- a char gets shot in the shoulder with a Russian revolver and his body doesn't seem to notice at all.


And I actually like the scene in which the pretty blond ex cop lady tells her boyfriend to go look for his ex girlfriend, because both of them are perfectly aware that their lost loved ones were their true loves and this is just comfortable friendship. That I actually bought.

Don't ask.

The sickness I am feeling over the disappointment and defeated anger is starting to affect my health. Hard to say if I am nearing any kind of breaking point, because I am medicated. But even medicated, I feel as if I am going to throw up all the time. There are no words to describe how ashamed I am of the results of that awful book. How remarkably humiliated I feel. As if I am being laughed at. A joke. Whatever comments I sent are ignored. More than half of my photos are replaced. Almost none of the fucking .gifs are used. Whole chapters have been thrown out, without a word to me. And this before I started begging people for additional pictures. Without a word to me.
    I am crying all the time. I am so heartbroken. So incredibly fucking retarded to have ever thought there creeps will want a good book from me. What a sick fucking joke.
    I ate a very lot of popcorn today. Hoping a date with a friend will cheer me up, but it only made me feel worse. The popcorn drained all my tears. Now I am just sick. I am walking around like a zombie. I hate everything. There is no greater joke than a neophyte expecting a happy story out of selling out to a big company.
   Betch ya a million bucks they will fuck me up over payment as well. Because I am so damn easily devoured.