I am officially feeling sorry for myself.
Oh, yes, this is so fun. Why do I do it? Human frailty, I suspect, or perhaps it’s that hormonal crap again. Heaven knows.
But I’m sitting here tonight, melting under the weight of the humidity and wishing I could dive into a swimming pool — and mourning what I cannot be.
I am not perfect. I cannot be loved by one and all. My novels are not on the top of anyone’s Best Sellers’ list. And the dream I once had of being published by some Big Name Print Pub seems a mile away.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Cry me a river and burn the tear-stained t-shirt already!
But my philosophy is this: Whine if you want to (or need to) and then get the heck over it!
We all need to vent…we all need a moment or two to cry, wail and gnash our teeth in dismay. But if we stay in that corner a couple of unpleasant things are going to happen.
Everyone will eventually get sick of it and leave us alone. REALLY alone.
Nothing will ever get better ’cause we’re not doing one damn thing about it.
I can say this — to myself, mind you — because if anyone else pointed it out I’d probably hurt them. I can say this here because the mic is on but nobody’s home! So, I am, essentially, talking to myself. Kind of therapeutic, actually.
Huh, maybe this blogging stuff isn’t a waste of time after all.