A story been written during my sleepless nights, fairly accompanied by my SSRI drugs, a cup of frappucino and a chunk of optimism. Presenting you, my deadly trial on becoming the most random, engineering-major, truly amateur fictional writer, 'Dead Cat For Zoey'. Well, if Sophie Kinsella, Emily Cassel or Stephanie Meyer happen to read my book, please, don't flush mine into your bowl. That's too rude! Haha.
blacky dead cat

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

I'm not going down without a fight

It's 3 a.m., I can't sleep at all, when I recalled back what happened yesterday morning. Yeah, I'm still talking about the rejections. They are really heartbreaking. It wasn't totally their faults, but I need to go through another hard times since last January, and now, April isn't that promising either, it full with hopes but aimlessly diminished, like all these 3-month efforts are just bags of trashes.
Crying during shower doesn't help, though a bit relieving. I got out, with no single shed of tears left, I disposed them, those despairs, and I'm going for a rally for myself. I had moody dinner with my dad and he was the victim for this small but resilient tantrums.
I am not going down without a fight...I don't take NO for an answer. And so do you.

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