I got this beautiful necklace doohickey and I realize, I don’t own a gold chain to put it on. So much for wearing it in a timely manner.
I kicked butt at work today in really satisfying ways, which I know is a weird thing to feel disappointment in, but I want to be the person who needs the support. I could even accept that I just suck as a writer of fiction, even though I really love it, and thus have no hope of ever being published.
But people, I must suck on par with this, right? How is that something people want to read and are moved by? It makes me feel old and irrelevant, already. And yet, apparently, it is awesome and I just can’t recognize it. And I suck and can’t recognize it.