Dear Diary . . . day by day

Saturday, October 13th, 2001 - Don't Count Your Chickens Before They're Hatched

The title of this entry is something my mom used to say to me when I was little. No, she didn't invent the saying, but she was both the first person who ever used it around me and the only person I know who might have actually used it in reference to eggs in the chicken coop (seeing as she actually grew up on a farm). I guess Aunt Rosie and Uncle Jack and Cousin Kirk all still live on farms, but as far as I know, no chickens, just polled herfers (er, cattle).
Scott and Lynne were over Thursday night, and at one point we got to talking about old cartoons - with the conceit that you had to keep the rooster out of the henhouse if you wanted good eggs to eat. These cartoons aren't that old, relatively speaking, but when they were made a greater percentage of the population of children watching could actually relate to the farm-yard dillemas depicted in them. Weird, huh? Not that cartoons from our youth were concerned with depicting things from our daily lives - I've never seen a mutant turtle OR a transformer battle bot.
Anyway.
Knocking on wood while I write this next bit: it seems like I have a very good chance at getting the Sierra Club job. Knock on wood again. I should know sometime on Monday. Cross fingers until then.
Still, trying not to count those chickens.
I got violentlly sick yesterday morning. I'd been up all but 2 hours the night before with anxiety about biological terrorism, and an early-morning breakfast the next morning got my tummy in on the fear. I tried to go to work, but by that time I was really sick. Sigh. I, of course, was counting on that money to pay some bills. Say it with me now.
Of course, there are times when you see the egg shaking, the cracks forming in the shell, and you're pretty damn SURE you're seeing the hatching right before your eyes. Those cases, I think it's understandable to go ahead and count. But, man, it makes it sting that much more when the chick dies before she makes her way out of the egg. My heartfelt condolences to Marissa, who had all but sold a book. It's a reality of the publishing world, true, that they can make you rewrite and yank and lead you along and still not buy your book, but that doesn't mean it's still not cruel.
I think that's it for my extended metaphor for today. I hope you all have a lovely weekend and keep your fingers crossed for me and that job!
Knock on wood.

Exercise log:
Hrm. Ahem. Walking some, what with all the public transit and all.
Writing log:
Finished the Indy Guide.
Check out my new Bibliography page.
Current Publications:
In the Shade of You a poem at Speculon.
San Francisco City Guide at EGrad.com. Written by me, edited by someone else.
I'm currently reading:
Dreams Underfoot by Charles deLint
The Anubis Gates by Tim Powers
If There Were Wolves a poetry chapbook by Tim Pratt
The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl by Tim Pratt
My PO Box is:
Heather Shaw
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222

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