Becky Flade, Author

I am so incredibly stuck & it's pissing me off to no end. I want to do NaNoWriMo again this year but I don't want to start something new without finishing the novel I've writing for the past 18 months. (detour, sexy man distracted me with sexy kiss, damn him lol) If you're asking yourself what NaNoWriMo is, let me explain. It's National Novel Writing Month. You've got 30 days to whip up 50,000 words of original work. Its summer counterpart in July 2009 is how the book I'm stuck in got started. Anyway you write like a madwoman, no editing, no rewrites, it's literally like an entire month-long stream of consciousness and you get a PDF certificate of completion when you're done. Its really just to get people off their duffs. I got something I've been chewing on for a while that 1) is perfect for NaNo and 2) is completely different from anything I've ever written before. And it's got a complete grasp on my imagination and WWRR is

I've been thinking about taking a sabbatical. I know I can't. Probably never be able to really, but the idea of it is just so fucking compelling I can't seem to shake it. I hate my job. I keep saying I love what I do and I'm good at it; that I despise the cliques, bureacracy and nepotism. But truthfully I lost the zest for my job quite some time ago. I used to come home from work full of stories and excitement for what I did that day. Now the only time I mention work is to complain. My career stopped being something I loved and enjoyed and was challenged by and just became a paycheck. I'm not sure when but I think, if I was being completely honest it was a couple years ago, at the very least since I got moved to a different division and my every day became utterly routine. At first I thought it was getting about time for me to go back to school again, and that's why I'm so restless and unhappy at work. Every living thing on planet Earth, has its ideal

My stomach has hurt for three days now and I am refusing to seek medical attention for it, much to my family's irritation. I don't have a good reason for my refusal. In fact, it's pretty immature and irrational and since no one likes to admit to being immature and irrational, I'm going to be even more so and refuse to explain. Nanny nanny boo boo.

Before today I've never watched a football game deep in enemy territory. Until this afternoon I've never sat in a crowd that cheered the opposing team. It was very disconcerting, like entering a foreign environ, as people sent jeers at my family as we clutched together at the mid-point of the bar. Nick and his girlfriend Liz were working, he was at the bar and she was serving table and they both were sporting Eagles jerseys. Myself and my boyfriend, Nick, also garbed in black and green, were joined by my cousin Moe, our brothers Kenny and Chris, Christopher's wife and some of their local friends. While most of us were born and bred Philly residents, all but my boyfriend and myself call Southern Maryland (or in my cousins case Virginia) home. They've grown accustomed to being the odd men out. We however, were loud, vulgar and obviously out of place. Did I enjoy the game? Not particularly, what should've been an easy win was a disappointing loss. But enjoyed s

Like so many other people out there today I tend forget to appreciate what I have. But when I remember, like now, there's no better feeling than knowing that I am lucky enough to be surrounded by people that I love but better, that love me too. Wealth is not about the house you live in, the car you drive or the balance in your checkbook. Its not about how many friends you have or how important you are. It's not even adequately measured by the amount of people you love. True wealth is measured by the number of people that love you. That's what life is all about. Take any individual and look at their lives. None of the outside trappings normally associated with wealth or poverty have anything to do with their happiness. A poor honest man who works tirelessly just to provide basic human necessities can be abundantly happy surrounded by the people that love him. Meanwhile, a dishonest but wealthy CEO of some mega-corporation can be miserably alone. It's not enoug

I made it to the gym for five consecutive days. I’ve been steady on my water and in or under my calorie goals. I’m feeling good, tired, a little sore, but good. Oh and I’ve lost 2.5 pounds. It’s Friday; I’m tired and I need/want to do at least thirty minutes of cardio. I got back on the stationary bike cause, let’s face it, any exercise that includes sitting down has GOT to be less tiring than the rest. Man was I wrong. I don’t know if 7.5 miles in 35 minutes is good or not. I do know I’m beat. It felt vigorous so I logged it as vigorous. There I am legs, music and sweat pumping and the heel of my foot hits something. Hard. Per the machine attached to bike, I was going at 105 rpm. I’m guessing that stands for Rotations Per Minute. So when my heel hit whatever it hit, it, uh, well, it hurt. My leg stuttered, for lack of a better descriptive word, and the whole area kind of sang as I sat there trying to figure out how I hurt myself on a bike that doesn’t move. I’m sitting