Whatever (WiP) Wednesday

Today I'm just throwing my hands up and shouting, "Whatever!"

• To the millions of No Kiss posts I haven't read. Whatever!
• To the tens of millions of tweets I miss. Whatever!
• To the crops that are withering. The cheesecake going to waste. Okay, okay, that's not really happening. No matter what, I'm tending to my Facebook games. But I almost had you, right?
• To having a home-cooked meal. What. Ev. Er.
• To bathing. Whatever.
• To going to work. I mean, srsly? Do I even need to say it? (*whatever*)

Because, dude, I have other things to do. More important things. It's called rewriting an entire book. Ever heard of it?

• To going bald due to rewrites. Whatever.
• To Pandora, who still only allows 40 hours of listening. Don't they know that rewriting can only take place with a Glee song screaming in the background? What-ev.
• To the three red pens I've already run dry. That's right. THREE. Whatever, Bic. I think I got defective pens. Oh, wait. I am rewriting an entire book. On paper. By hand. Whatever.
• To things like "bedtimes" and "new year's resolutions." Whatever. When you're rewriting a book, you don't notice how the hours silently (well, not silently. There is Pandora.) slip by. You don't notice you've eaten an entire bag of Reese's peanut butter cups by yourself or drank the 2-Liter of ginger ale. I mean, srsly. Oops. I mean, whatever!

So there you go. What I'm working on. And pretty much how I feel about it right now. How are you doing? What are you working on? What do you need to shout, "Whatever!" at? Do it! I'll yell it with you.

Ready? 3...2...1...

Whatever Wednesday. What. Ev.

Okay, my WiP has crawled under the couch and died. It's starting to stink, so I left my daughter in the house with a full can of Lysol and have escaped to the backyard. She loves to spray that stuff, and I can't breathe with either smell, so it's a win/win.

Today, I bring you Whatev Wednesday. Warning: this might come off as a little rantish, but if you've been reading my blog at all, you know I'm a bit on the sarcastic side. Just the teeniest little bit. *snarftastic*

I wanna give a shout-out to the "Whatevers!" of aspiring author life. You know what I mean. You know how someone does or says something and you just can't believe it. And the word comes up like vomit and you can't stop it or the disdainful edge in your voice. "Whatever." Something so ridiculous you just have to dismiss it with a wave of your hand and a muttered, "Whatev."

This post is dedicated to you, my Whatever Friends. In honor of:

1. Waiting. I snub my nose at you, Mr. Wait. You are my number one, "Whatever." So anyone waiting for anything right now - the bus, an email, a phone call, just raise your hand and say, "Whatever, Mr. Wait. What. Ev." You do not rule my life. You do not own me. I will not be chained to my email because of you. I can go to Kohl's without having a panic attack. I will even stop at Office Max just to make you wait for once. So there, Mr. Wait. What. Ev.

2. Rejections. Talk to the hand, Devastating Rejection lurking in my inbox. I don't want to read you. I don't want to see you around here again. Take your kind words and "just not for me" and quietly disappear into the rejection folder where I can obsess over you when I'm not so emotional. Or not. Whatever.

3. Social Networking. I can't keep up with you, Information Superhighway. I am in the slow lane, the one with the sputtering car and smoke pouring from the engine while you are roaring on at all hours of the day and night. I try to read blogs and comment. I try to get on twitter and facebook daily. You, Information Superhighway, yes you, are causing me to fail epically. So today, I'm doing the dismissive wave. Muttering, "Whatever," under my breath as I close the Internet browser and shut down the Tweetdeck. My heart may palpitate. My mind may race whilst thinking of what I might be missing. I may even miss you my fickle friend, but whatev.

4. Dieting. Come on in Mr. Half Pound of Bacon and Side of Doritos. I've been expecting you. Yes, I can hear that scale upstairs screaming. He stops after a few minutes, especially when you don't answer. I don't care about him anymore. He shrieks whenever I come near anyway, I might as well enjoy myself a little bit today. So there, Mr. Whoa-You-Weigh-How-Much?. Take your salad and no-fat ranch dressing and sho--

I think I better stop there. Someone please tell me I'm not the only one with a severe case of the Whatever's. Please. And for those of you who'd had this debilitating disease before, what's the cure? How do I get it to go away?

What do you have in your life that makes you hold up the finger-W and say, "Whatever, dude. What. Ev."? Anything? Everything? Anything?