Now, I’m not saying that shitty things happen just because I step on the bathroom scale, but yes, yes I am, that’s exactly what I’m saying. DON’T DO THAT. In fact, huck that demon-infested number-fibber out the bloody window before someone else gets hurt.

Yesterday, I stepped on the bathroom scale after eating in Paris for a week (what the hell was I thinking?)… and thereby unleashed a shitstorm of events that competed for the Gold Medal in Suckosity–which, if it is not already a word, really should be. Not only had I gained ten pounds (ten! TEN!) but I had three rapid-fire cancellations in increasing magnitudes of suckness.

First, my beta reader cancelled an appointment  Not a huge deal, I see her often, I didn’t really think much of it. However…

Secondly, I got a call from the government. Didn’t really want to answer that one, frankly. How could it be a good thing? “Hi, AJ, this is the Prime Minister. Just wanted to check in and see how things are going with you?” But no, it was the sheriff’s office calling to tell me the jury selection panel had been cancelled. Boo! I might be the only person she called who exclaimed “awww, really? Damn it!” I really did want to be on a jury. Someday. But again, not a huge deal. Slightly worse than my first cancellation.

But then my winery appearance got cancelled not a minute later. Now that truly sucked. And I started to wonder … what the hell, Universe? What minor league god did I cheese-off? And is Cancel Fest 2012 done, now? Or is my ass going to get cancelled next?

Hmm. Judging by the number on that bathroom scale, maybe cancelling my ass sin’t such a bad idea. Heh.

(Editor’s note: Next up, an interview with the inimitable genius that is Rafe Brox, the man I’ve entrusted with the editing of Death Rejoices. I use the term “genius” because, whereas I have a sweet tooth, he has a meat tooth, and I’m afraid he might try to eat my face.)