Thursday, July 31, 2008
This is like quitting smoking or dieting or something: you should never, ever tell anyone about it and then if you blow it, your shame and humiliation is yours alone. Unfortunately, I've never been able to do that - I am compelled (well, obviously, or I wouldn't have a blog, right?) to share all this kind of shit with everyone. I feel bad, then, when y'all go to the trouble of congratulating me and then the damn thing falls through. Which, come to think of it, is a lot like quitting smoking: everyone tells you how great you are and then, two weeks later, when they catch you behind the dumpster puffing away in the sleet, they just look at you sadly. Look at me sadly, y'all. Except that this time, it's actually not my fault. Really. Honestly. Although, no, I don't believe that either and we return to the Felicity is Fucking Doomed theory: it's the opposite of the Midas touch, that thing that I have and holy shit, I must have been a real charmer in my previous lives. Gah. This sucks.