Sometimes, a person just needs a little comfort. A little hug from the universe. You know it and I know it. Some people are the hug. Some people need the hug more than others. How can I comfort you in your time of need? How about a giant cinnamon roll, dripping with butter and icing? Hand-rolled homemade baked in an industrial oven. It is still warm when I hand it to you. Resting on a napkin. Fresh and gooey like a good day of childhood. Yes. Giant cinnamon roll. You feel better now. Yes.
Today was a day that lights twittered on and off. The light in our living room was demonstrating malfeasance and lack of team spirit and was flickering like our home was a cut-rate disco. At the Thai restaurant where we ate dinner tonight (The Tits, of course) they were having a similar lighting problem. I had placed a $20 bill to cover the tab on the table. I told Bob I would give him $20 if he made the lights go back on and when they did he snatched the $20. Then I told him he had to pay for dinner with it. He scowled. The diners at the adjacent table laughed at our shenanigans, earning them two free AIC tickets.
My hip sockets hurt after a marathon four hours sitting in an inferior wooden chair at Quack's, where I drank coffee and forced myself to read Novel #1 in its entirety, making notes as I went. HOLY SHIT is it hard to read your own writing, especially when you have such high hopes for it. I want it to be in the world, to do good, to be smart and cute and happy-making. I worry about it. This is as close to parenting as I will ever get. And all it is is words on paper. Imagine how it must feel when it's your flesh.
If it were flesh, you know what I'd do? I'd give it a giant cinnamon roll! Then it would feel comforted and loved. Actually, a novel is more like a workhorse than a child. I take everything I said back.
I need one, please.
Posted by: Jules at January 2, 2008 10:44 PM