Too Big for Its Britches

Oh, man. I guess it was bound to happen. I’ve gone over my monthly bandwidth allotment again. I get 7 Gig/ month of data transfer. They’re projecting 10 Gig for this month, which will cost $212 for the month of September if I don’t do something very soon to fix it. For those of you who’ve been with Squishy since the beginning, you know this is why I ended up having to close down the site, when Verio.com raised my rates to over three hundred dollars a month to keep the site running. I’ve outgrown the small plan I’d moved to when I closed the site down, and already, just a couple of months in, I’m over my allotment. Is it because I used pictures this month when I normally don’t? Won’t this just be the problem now that there are more pages on my site to browse? How can I find a monthly webhost plan that’s reliable and less than fifty bucks a month? Because, come on, I don’t want to spend more than fifty bucks a month for my journal. That’s insane, right? Shouldn’t this be easier?

Little Drummer Boy’s playing a sad, sad, clumsy song for me.

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Classy.

Wednesday night I had planned on updating, but my Queer as Folk forum was attacked with a two-hour case of trolls which took a manibajillion years to clean out on a dial-up. By midnight, I was way too pissed off to update.

That was the night of Funky Chicken, a chicken I took out of the fridge to cook, and found that it had somehow completely rotted on the trip from Trader Joe’s to home. The entire house smelled of foul fowl. It was not a good night, on the whole.

Thursday I was rehearsing at night, writing during the day. I’m trying to finish this screenplay and I’m at the part in the writing process where I hate it so much that I now have to just force myself to finish it. I hate every line, every character and every scene. I wonder why I even bother. I can’t stand the thought of people reading it. By tomorrow, I plan to have the first draft done. Then by Monday, the revision. That’s the plan, anyway. I have to torture myself or it won’t be finished. Hey, hey, Friday night, how cool are you? By Monday I’ll be protective of the script, but right now — hatred.

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