Well, it finally happened.
(No, not that. My manuscript wasn't accepted. I can't quite fall down and worship The Famous New York Literary Agent who has sold it at Auction to Random House and promised to make me a millionaire. That fantasy is still safely sequestered in the back of my cerebrum for times when I need a little mental amusement. But thank you for that gasp of breath you took when you made such a wonderful assumption. I'd hug you if I could.)
No. What happened is far less newsworthy and exciting. The only reason I bring it up is because it affects my general performance and I thought I'd give you a heads up before you think I've lost my mind entirely.
So what happened? (You're getting pissed off now because I'm taking too long for The Big Reveal. See? You already think I've lost my mind. Or at least my point. Bingo on both counts.)
Well. It started at the end of the hall, two coworkers and their considerable hacking. In tandem, it emanated from adjacent doorways like a frog on Dolby. (Is Dolby still around? I might be revealing my age.) Anyway, despite the best intentions of said coworkers, the microscopic meanies made their way downwind, riding the unseen thermal to my desk and up my nose. And now I'm thick headed, with a box of Kleenex at the ready for the considerable wiping of the already tender spot just below my nostrils. Ouch.
So, my flag is flying at half-mast. The power has been shut off and my airplane can't get off the ground. It's fogged in. My concerns with publishing my memoir are somewhere out there beyond my brain's capabilities. It's kind of a blissful ignorance. Things could be worse. But they're not.
I suppose I'm still coherent enough to know that Christmas is just a few short days away. My hope is that each and everyone one of you has the perfect holiday and that you know you're loved. Cherished in fact, because isn't that really what it's all about?
|"Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!"
(All photos from Pinterest)