100% Failure rate

As of yesterday's post, every one of my submissions is accounted for. Every single one of them a rejection. Every single one of them a form rejection, some not even bothering to put my name.

To everyone who sent me a rejection, fuck you. I hope your eyes get pecked out by sparrows (it will take longer than crows). And that you contract some hideous disease that causes your skin to tighten and tighten until it eventually rips and falls from your sick flesh. Actually, the sparrows can do their work at that point because I'd like you to see that, like the guy who saw his face peel off in Poltergeist. Then I hope you get... hmm... a paper cut. But a really bad one that stings. Then gets infected with maggots that eat away at your bare flesh until you eventually die an agonising death. But not before I give you a card that says I apologise for the stock response but your pathetic life has been rejected. I can't see a market for it. But I wish you success in your eternity in whatever hell you'll be going to.

Unless they reject you too.

If that doesn't happen, I'm going to find out who each and every one of you are and keep photos of you with me for the rest of my life. And some day, maybe many years from now, I'll spot you on the street from that cardboard box I'll be living in. And, when you pass, I'll put out my leg and trip you up. If I'm lucky, you'll graze your knee but, at the very least, you'll look like a tit.

And, then, when I'm close to death, I'll take each one of those photos and write 'FOOD' on them. Then, when the inevitable zombie apocalyse comes and I rise from the grave hungry for human flesh, the only memory I'll have is that you, each and every one of you, are my food. And I will eat your brains. I can't imagine your brains would give me much sustenaince but then a zombie doesn't digest food anyway. And, in a way, it's fitting - just like now, what little brains you have will be utterly useless. But I'll eat them anyway.

Fuck each and every one of you. The least you could have done was do me the decency of writing a proper letter. And putting my name on it. Gobshites.

I think I'm taking this rather well.

Hitting my limit

I was always a B student who was prone to getting Cs. Not As. No, I was never that good. Never best at anything. But decent, and that meant high expectations. Why wasn't I getting As? Where did this C come from?

Of course the dumbass students who failed consistently got a bloody party any time they scraped a D.

But, now, my Bs, which slipped to Cs, have slipped all the way down to fail. I'm in a bigger pool. Of people with actual talent. I can't compete any more. I'm done.

And yet there is something oddly familiar about that feeling of inadequacy. It's almost comfortable. Like I'd rather be that fail student who gets the cake for just getting his name right on a paper.

The rejection I got yesterday didn't even come with a letter. It came with a card. A little rejection card.

Why so fast?

This is pretty much how things have been going lately. I've got a project I think could be great.

Others don't seem to share that opinion.

I have never seen the post come so fast in my life.