I’ve been having one of those weeks where the best thing that can be said about it is that it is coming to a close, and the fact that I say this in a week in which I sold a book, received great-looking ARCs of a second, and was delighted by the illustrations accompanying a third book (well, chapbook) should give an indication of just how rankly craptastic other aspects of my life have been over the last several days. Suffice to say that sometimes we suffer for things over which we had no control, and leave it at that. But on the bright side, I’ve learned that I actually can stay civil when I have to, even when some folks (and not at all unjustifiably, from their point of view) are doing their level best to goad me into apoplectic rage. Didn’t happen. At 36, I finally feel mature.
However, the flip side of this is that I now have an irrational and not entirely useful urge to pick a fight with someone — anyone, really — and just whale the shit out of them with logic and/or derision. And that’s really no good for anyone, least of all me, since no one is actually clever when they’re generally pissy, and I regret to say I am not the exception that proves the rule. What I’m saying is that if over the next few days my asshole-o-meter has its needle pegged to the red, please be aware it’s not you, it’s me. Also, please don’t try to pick any fights with me. I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought. But it just won’t end happily for anyone, least of all me. The problem with getting into a flame war when you’re already wound up is that it’s never the cathartic experience you really want; you just end up feeling fatigued and dirty. I think I’ll just play Dance Dance Revolution all weekend long instead.
Don’t worry, I’ll be fine by Monday. Or I’ll have had a stroke. Either way, it’ll be resolved.