2003-05-01 - 1:34 p.m.
I always wanted to be one of those pretty girls. With their perfect make-up and their just-right clothes. They always have clean shoes and pressed shirts. They have their hair dyed to a certain, perfect shade that I only ever find out about two months after it's Over. Everything's over. Everything's done. I wanted to be one of those perfect girls. Putting on lipstick in the bathroom. Being witty. Being pretty. I think I must be background to them. Pretty enough to not make fun of. Not stylish enough to be any real competition to them.
There's just enough of me that doesn't care about being pretty that I'll never quite make it. I don't care enough to work out, I don't care enough to get my nails done and I don't care enough to have my hair dyed.
My shoes today are covered in mud. They came out of my closet that way. I have no recollection of how that came to be. I have no desire to clean them. I think that no one will notice. But I think that they notice just enough to ensure that I will never be one of the pretty girls because there's enough of me that just doesn't care.
It makes the tips of my ears turn red.
I had a meeting this morning during which I had to pee very badly. I rushed through it and ran to the bathroom. I want to get my shit together in a large and remarkable way. I want all of my shit to be right there. Together. Fixed. That's a horrifying visual.
I still don't have the contract to the book. I promised myself I would not worry about it until the first of May. It is now officially the first of May. I have to start sending query letters out to other publishers this week.
I wanted this to not happen. I wanted the contract to arrive and the book to get magically signed.
Nothing is easy.
I'm trying very hard. All the time. To be really good.
It makes my ears red.