I know I live a frenetic lifestyle, zooming here and there, holding down more jobs/part-time jobs/cats than any normal woman should, but it’s always worked for me.
Some days just require more chocolate than others. No problemo.
But the past week has gone above and beyond the duty of lets-destroy-carrie-and-bring-her-to-her-knees.
I won’t tell you about work, because everyone works, and everyone runs wildly because of it – unless you’re a Professional Couch Potato, in which case, hats off to you. I won’t mention the side hobbies, the jewelry, the websites (ok, I might growl about those later), the laundry, etc. Because EVERYONE has the same problems. Right?
But what I am going to whine about (what, you didn’t think this was a whining post?) is people. Ok, and cats. But mostly people.
This past week I’ve had people comment on my hair (ohhhh ….umm..did someone NEW cut your hair? that’s a different look for you, isn’t it?) my clothes (you look so pretty tonight, especially compared to the last time we saw you) my eyes (why is that one eye like that? is that a birth defect?) my weight (yeah, we’ve all put on a few pounds over the winter – some more than others eh?) my shoes (those shoes are about ready for the trash pile huh) and even my bra (oh, is that one of those new silver colored bras? oh no, wait…that’s just gray isn’t it?)
Seriously, people. I realize that most of the time, I’m a public figure. I work out in the public, I should expect a certain amount of “commentary”.
But when does it go beyond commentary and into gosh-bob-that’s-none-of-your-darn-business?
Believe it or not, the bra comment wasn’t the final straw (that was my chiropractor doing ultrasound)
It was actually the your-characters-are-flat comment. (See, you KNEW I’d bring it around to writing somehow!)
I know it was a rough copy, I know it was first draft. But yikes. Critiques can hurt. Or they can make you try harder.
For me, I’m generally inspired to drink four vodka lemonades, eat handfuls of chocolate while ranting wildly about how clueless people are….and then when I’m hungover with sugar blues the next day, I let reality slide in, and think that maybe yeah, maybe I could do better.
And sometimes, it takes two or three of those vodka/chocolate days before the realization sinks in.
And sometimes, by golly, it just never happens.
Today is going to be a vodka/chocolate day. And tomorrow, well, tomorrow my characters won’t be called flat anymore, by God.
But I’ll still be wearing any ugly shirt over my chubby body, which should be ugly enough to cover up my gray bra, reading through my lopsided eye with a bad haircut while wearing worn out shoes.
But tough beans.
At least I won’t have flat characters anymore.
ps word count? 7066
cats? 3 birds, 3 mice