Counting My Curses

Counting blessings? That's for those other folks. Y'know, those who want to go on and live happy, normal, productive lives but are unable to do so unless they actually think about what makes them happy. Kinda backwards as far as I'm concerned, if you start off your day thinking about the most horrid things that have happened to you the rest of your life will be peachy in comparison.

1. For my entire life I've wanted to be a writer. This is a dismal career path if there ever was one. Locked up in a room for Goddess knows how many hours, typing page after page of what may or may not be garbage and that's a good day for a writer. Bad days are when you don't have a room to lock yourself in, the kids are screaming that they're hungry (frequently no less than five minutes after you've fed them), the spouse is screaming that the dishes need done and the only damn thing you can think about is that blinking curser.
2. The genre that has chosen me is horror. What kind of sick fuck am I that I'd rather write about killing someone then helping them fall in love or have them chase unicorns and dragons down while wielding a wand. Hell, a face off with aliens wouldn't keep me up at night half as often as my damn characters do.
3. My children. Don't get me wrong, I love my minions, I mean kids, but sometimes they just don't know when to leave me alone. Specifically...when I'm writing. I swear, anytime I get near a keyboard they need something desperately as if it were a life and death matter. Most of the time it has to do with a food or PS2 related problem.
4. The standard layout for keyboards, and the way I was taught how to type in school is QWERTY. Dvorak is better, and I should be practicing it now, but I can't think with Dvorak...not yet anyway.

Well, that's enough curse counting for the day. I feel much better already. Don't you?