Today I commended one of my favourite authors on a recent accolade.
Inner critic says this is lame. Inner therapist congratulates me on my willingness to be vulnerable. I revere authors. In theory they are supposed to be my peers (ha!), but I blush and shake and stumble in their presence. (Cue Michael Chabon story here.) My mom kept encouraging me to just email authors while I was camped out in St. John's this summer, to ask them out for tea. Hogwash. I'm trying to think of an appropriate metaphor that would highlight the gap, but all I can think about is how my aunt was once obsessed with The Monkees. Maybe it is something like that.
Anyway, I did it. So pats on the back all around.
Other good things that happened today, since in the midst of this rashy patch of knee-high stressweed a reminder is sometimes necessary...
- My nail polish did not chip
- My therapist said she would miss me
- My best friend's star rose higher
- I set up another informational interview
- I learned the lyrics to an Iron & Wine song
- The barista accidentally charged me for a grande chai instead of a tall...and I DRANK THE WHOLE THING
- I remembered I own a trench coat
- And an unexpected social cancellation lead to two blissful hours alone, eating a frozen pizza, reading my new O magazine (no judgement, judgey-faces), stretching, clomping around the apartment in my new shoes, and wine
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