But, I’m okay. Frankly, because I don’t exactly know how to handle it…=) Do I now send a thank you for looking card? Do I curse and rant and rave? Do I print it out and throw darts at it? The options are limitless…
Probably it was just the impersonal touch to the rejection that made it not only bearable, but non-shocking. Kind of like a cut and paste rejection with no pointing fingers, no sad tears, no lingering bitter taste in my mouth.
And that kind of takes the fun out of it all. I’d expected to tear part of my hair out, sink into a depression and hole up like a hermit for days. Live on chocolate, scratch at fleas and rent my clothing. Instead I had microwave popcorn and read Susan Elizabeth Phillips. Even today, when I’m supposedly over the shock, I’m not ….depressed.
Instead, my first thought was actually – now I belong to part of the club! Margaritas for everyone!
Yeah, I’m weird that way.
I’m just moving on. Plodding along with my writing. One step after another. There’ll be more rejections, highs and lows, possible renting of clothing. Bur for now, I’m just saying –