I'm having a real 'moment'here. Yeah, no surprise. luc's having another drama queen moment. But I am just so goddamned sick of everyone in my 'real' life. Everyone. You know, the only people who have ever given a damn about my writing were my parents. My dad didn't really understand most of it, but he knew it was important to me. My mom knows it is important to me.

YOU WOULD THINK that my son and the man who allegedly loves me would also understand that it is important to me--even if they don't read it. I have sat here all f**king night working on editing The Shower. The Rangers were playing hockey so I figured at least Scott would leave me alone and let me work on that. And I could live with the occasional outbursts from him. Except I told him I was trying to concentrate and thata I didn't mind that but interrupting me to talk about why the Rangers were great was a bit much. Sam, too, managed to find ways of constantly interrupting me. I told him I was trying to concentrate and asaked him how he felt when someone talked to him about nothing urgent when he was doing his homework. He said he didn't like it. And he said he would stop. Yeah, right. Constantly for the past 4 hours he has interrupted me to tell me stupid things, to ask me stupid things, to just make noises however he could.

And it really goes much beyond this. I have asked--and when ignored, asked again a little more loudly--that when i am writing, please leave me alone. Scott's answer to this when i get pissy about it is to walk past me and lift a cheek and fart at me. f**king Christ, he's a teacher! I thought I had found someone a little higher up on the evolutionary scale! Sam thinks that is so funny. And it all boils down to they really don't think my writing is valuable in any way. It is just something I do for fun. It doesn' tpay me any money. It isn't getting published. It's a waste of time, time I could spend 'doing something.' Thaqt is how it is treated around here. And when I express my upset at that, well...I'm not qutie sure how to interpret the noise from someone's ass, but my guess is it means something like, "like I give a shit."

So you know, I had a moment before this moment. I said I was going to just stop writing and delete everything and never write a goddamned word again because what the f**K is the point? Tje people I love and who supposedly love me couldn't give a f**K.

It pisses me off so much because it hurts so much. It is the one thing that I do that has meaning to me, that makes me feel good about myself. And they treat it like it is nothing. That makes me feel like I am nothing. And Scott wonders why I stay up all night. Because that's when I can write without anyone making me feel like I am doing something wrong, something unimportant, something that is just a waste of my time--and apparently theirs, too. *laughs* And SAm does the same damned thing. He learned it from someone else before it was reinforced by Scott.

I hate them both. Sam is upset right now, ran upstairs crying. Scott is pissed off at me because I got upset with him and Sam. And I have deleted the files I was working on because what is the f**king point? *laughs* Yeah, they are in the Recycle Bin, so I can get them back. But I don't know if I want to. It seems that all through my life I have heard the same things from people in my life. I stopped writing for years because you know, if you hear something enough times or hear it said the right way, you tend to believe it.

so yeah, another one of my moments. And yeah, I am to the point of throwing things and slamming things and I had this laptop in my hands and god, I almost threw it across the room. *laughs hysterically* Then I realized I have things on this laptop that I don't have on my regular computer--conversations I don't want to lose, pictures I don't want to lose. So it got a last minute reprieve.

So what is the last thing he said to me as he stalked upstairs (other than he was going to watch hockey in peace)? "Why don't you take something and calm the f**K down?" *spits in his general direction* And just yesterday he asked me (because I was wearing sunglasses because my eyes hurt and were puffy from a hell of a bad night), "You using something again?" *bangs head on desk* Take a drug....don't take a drug...make up your goddamned mind, will you? (I wasn't)

No, my writing isn't important. It isn't important that I concentrate and try to do something that means something to me. But it is SO GODDAMNED IMPORTANT THAT THE RANGERS BEAT THE SABRES!