8-Feb-2006

I started today off with a pitiful case of what Mom has deemed the "can't-help-its."  I won't go into the gory details, but it boils down to this:  whining, whimpering, banging one's head against the nearest hard surface.  It most commonly occurs in only children, for they are the ones accustomed to getting their own way.  And, they know that if they misbehave, you're not going to kill them, cause there's no replacement child waiting in the wings.  Want to spank me?  Fine, I'll just finish off this arsenic here-- What's that, no spanking now?  I thought as much.  Yes, only children with the can't-help-its are a "Law & Order:  SVU" episode waiting to happen, especially when they grow up.  And I am no exception.  Happily for all you innocent folk, there were chocolate doughnuts waiting at the office when I got in, saving us all from my rage, strife, and infernal squawking.  I must not have fooled the P.A., however, who asked if it was "my time of the month."  I promptly fired him, then called him back when I discovered the coffee had yet to be made. 

I think maybe today's grouchiness was caused by the fact that I sent out my pilot for its first round of notes.  And it's a strange feeling.  Because up until now, my eyes are the only ones that have seen it.  I would compare it to sending your perfect child, your little darling, with his soap-shining face and clear blue eyes, off to Kindergarten, only to get a call from the snickering teacher a few hours later - "Johnny's masturbating at his desk.  Did you teach him that?"  In other words, you allow something very personal into the world, and you don't know if it's a Doogie Howser or a Ted Bundy.  All you can do is keep your fingers crossed as you hit "Send."