First of all--thank you, everybody. I mean seriously--how can I possibly stay in my perfect little puddle when you all rally to remind me that I have a spine? Thank you--your comments meant the world to me on what was truly a crap day...
Now, about that crap day...
Does everybody remember the "Sponge-Bob Backpack" incident from last year? Uhm-hm...this is week 6 of the new school year. The critical week. The week where all meltdowns are not only possible, but probable and, I'm starting to think, necessary for good mental hygiene. Maybe it was simply kismet that that slough of reviews hit the fan this week... you know, Murphy's law--the universe kicking you when your defenses are low, that sort of thing. But I'm pretty sure I'm stronger than I was yesterday, on most days of the year. Maybe not--maybe my thin skin is an asset for writing and a weakness for publishing...but I'm done thinking about it. Besides--after yesterday's post, the world went on to show me just how much weirder life could get.
Remember how proud I was that I got my book, etc. sent out via Fed/Ex? Okay... (and this would have had Samurai climbing the walls with her teeth--in fact, I heartily wished I could have teleported her here, because she could have gone into the Kinko's and raised a serious stink, and I could have sat back and laughed my ass off...) Anyway... the package was supposed to go from me, to Roxie (Oregon) to Needletart (Pennsylvania) and back to me (Sacramento). There were three shipping labels, all ready and prepared. Which shipping label did they choose to schwack on the package first? Why, that would be the shipping label that sent the package from Pennsylvania BACK TO ME HERE IN SACRAMENTO. So I got home yesterday, and there was my package--having safely survived the trip from Natomas to Citrus Heights, which is basically my commute every day. But it's okay though--for real. I went to fix this (egregious error) little problem, and the guy behind the counter of the Citrus Heights Fed/Ex said "Isn't that yarn in there with the manuscript?" Uh-huh. "Can't that, like, squish down?" Uh-huh. "Then why is it in such a big box?" Damned if I know. "Well, let me put it in a smaller box--it'll cut your shipping cost in half. I'll just have to call those people in Natomas and tell them to go back to shipping school!" Yes, there is such a place, and given my level of actual organization, may I wish all my enemies so thoroughly cursed. I didn't even need to raise the demons of incompetence karma myself!
So there was that. And then there was this--I went to pick up the grunion from day care yesterday, and there was Ladybug, with a book. "Read!" She said, imperiously, chubby little finger pointing at the picture.
"You want me to read?"
She scowled, stubbing that finger at the poky little puppy. "Read Dog!" She commanded. And she continued commanding for the rest of the night--we've been reading in shifts, because, dammit, the queen of every-freaking-thing insists and we obeyed.
So there was that.
And this morning, there was my unusual wake-up call. YOu know it's gonna be a weird one when your cat wakes you up by tongue kissing you at 5:30 in the morning. And for the record? Dennis Quaid the cat? He has breath that could topple an evil undead sanitation engineer with a specialty in porta-johns from 50 yards away.
And on that note, I'll leave you to your weekend, when I'll be shuttling three giggling tweens to the mall and the movies in honor of Chicken's induction to the planet, 13 years ago on the 24th. Goddess have mercy, week 7 is here.