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Tuesday, September 15, 2009

If I'm in your neighborhood, you better duck.

I'm waiting for the agent to get back to me about my book and it's driving me crazy. I am completely one hundred percent sure that she won't just pass on it, but will vehemently hate it, she will rub it on her butt and set it on fire using the cigarette at the end of her sophisticated, New York City cigarette holder. Then she will mail it's ashes to me with a note written in black sharpie, the way a kidnapper would write-"Nice Try Retard. Who do you think you are?"
I'm resigned to this, expecting it actually, and yet it still gives me anxiety waiting for it. I hate anticipation of any kind, leading up to something good or terrible, doesn't matter.

Things to do when you are anxious and out of Xanax-

Play "Straight Outta Compton" on repeat for at least an hour. Do not sing along if you aren't African American, but it is okay to dance.

Put up flyers for non existent garage sales, listing your ex boyfriend's name and address-EARLY BIRDS WELCOME! JUST KNOCK LOUDLY.

Prank Call

Check your blog fifteen times a day and read all the comments written by readers whom you love so much you want to offer them a kidney or your car.

Attend Armageddon Conferences to remind yourself that at least the four horses haven't shown up yet-there is still time to get a massage and a nice meal before getting Left Behind.

Write other things to remind yourself that no matter what, it's just fun to do. Here is my short story-It is fiction-meaning my husband didn't have an affair and I have never owned a magic appliance.

Do not attempt to soothe anxiety by shaving parts of your body that haven't been shaved before, maybe shouldn't be shaved at all.

Do not give yourself a freaky hairdo.

Do not get into a philosophical debate with your in laws about religion.

Above all, Most important-

do not email the agent compulsively and tell her that she is "killing you" with her lack of a speedy response. Do not further annoy her by forgetting to use spell check, thereby confirming that you are a back woods Texas inbreed who drinks corn liquor out of a jug while your baby eats dirt in the yard because Cletus hasn't shown you the spell check button on the email.