Doubt It

“Agggggggggg.  I have no neck!”
I look at a picture of myself and begin to pick it apart beginning with that quip.

I am wonderfully flawed and able to see my shortcomings and make something like sense of them.  We, my flaws and I, have been involved in this common-law, make-do relationship for more years than any other kind of relationship I’ve managed not to sucker my way out of combined.  We get along pretty well.  Usually.

Then a week like the past one comes along.  And I want to kick them out.  Because they make everything look and seem bad.  I mean, how many situps does it take?  Le’s see: how many rejection letters does it take to hint, “Maybe you just ain’t got It“?  Wow, so I’m really gonna be this broke again tomorrow?

Let’s just say during weeks like this I am NOT my biggest fan.  And relationships rarely prosper when one party is in a consistent state of self pity or doubt.  So me and flaws are having to have a come-to-Jesus meeting.  It will likely include a broccoli quiche, blueberry muffins, nail polish, eyeliner, and some new earrings…

In any saturated industry–for me publishing and humanities–you expect competition to be fierce and rejection as par for the course.  You get kinda like I’ve gotten over the years: supple leather–tough but yielding.  (And not always that pretty).  I’m generally good with that; this week not so much.  I know nothing of long term relationships but I imagine myself at that point where you do the tight jeans and lipgloss strut through the mall to remind yourself that you still got it.

So broccoli quiche, blueberry muffins, nail polish, eyeliner, and new earrings it is.

Stuffing rejection letters to the back of the notebook and sending my babies out elsewhere.  No use in letting them spend the night; they might forget themselves and try to stay forever.

p.s. SUBSCRIBE NOW!  (All the cool kids are doing it).

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