Been a tough week getting motivated to run. Lots of issues dealing with the whole writing thing. I know, stop complaining, right? Today is the last day of shooting for American Standard. That's pretty darn exciting. Let's all hope it turns out as great as we hope it can. After working a month on a project with Wes' friend, had to ditch it because there is an exact duplicate project going on with a big studio. That's been the frustrating and depressing element of the past couple days. Sometimes, being a writer sucks.
So, with the thought of having to come up with some new ideas, plus trying to thing of a plot for Soulless 2, I didn't run very long this morning. That's not good, since I have to run 9 miles this Sunday, Man, am I going to be hurting come Monday morning.
We've raised 800 dollars so far, which is pretty good all things considered. Not sure how much we'll end up raising this year. I started LATE and it's been a rough year for people financially. I received a great letter from a former co-worker, Lindsay Rogers. He used to work with me at Klasky Csupo and was a constant ray of support and optimism. The envelope was decorated by one of his daughters (at least, I assume it was one of his daughters). On it, there was a circle around the words Cystic Fibrosis with a slash through the words (think Ghostbusters). How thoughtful that they took the time not only to write a kind letter, but to show support and enthusiasm with the artwork. I think it is very touching.
Jake is on Pulmicort for a month, in place of his dosages of Cromolyn. Pulmicort is a steroid. He was put on it because he's had a cough every time he gets really excited (like running or, especially, when Sophie makes him laugh REALLY REALLY hard). I can't tell you how painful it is to write that he even has a small cough. I don't want to have these symptoms of Cf. I know that's selfish because there are so many kids sicker than Jake, but it's how I feel.
I've said this before, but it's worth repeating. You live your day in this sort of vacuum. A routine forms and the constant reminder of the illness kind of gets placed away somewhere where you don't collapse from angst and stress. But the moment you acknowledge that something has changed... that something may be getting worse... it's a little devastating. And a piece of you crumbles.
Running 9 miles suddenly seems like nothing.