Not going to Long Island

I figure I should put on a dress and behave like grown up every now and then. A professional grown up! With that in mind, I'd signed myself up to go to the Long Island Romance Writer's Luncheon, a rhaaather nice event. Been two or three times and it's always interesting.

But . . . Earlier this week the grunge hit us and I'm still recovering. And okay, there's panic/phobia/whatever involved.

I have to do penance, otherwise I'll worry that I'm slipping back into full-blown agoraphobia. [It's phobia! It's an excuse based on panic! Not real! Prove you're capable of doing it or you'll end up housebound with cats! Lots of cats!] To ward off the evil walls closing in, I'll drive to a RWA meeting about 30 minutes away. I'll probably wear a dress, too.

I almost always force myself to go despite the panic. Today I don't feel like indulging in too much self-pity and self-disgust. Turns out it's kind of a nice break to let the panic win now and then.

It's just part of the territory--and really, as far as crosses go, it could be a hell of a lot worse. Diabetes, celiac disease, fear of spiders (in this house, very bad news). Yup. We all have something screwy in our systems. Except there's a chunk of dough down the drain. Now I can pay bills and do laundry instead of listening to inspired speakers and maybe sell a manuscript or two. The worst part is I don't get to hang with my cadre. Yo yo, bad news, the L Team has to get their Dunkin on their own. And I can't go laugh with Irene or Kristi. Bah. . . .

Huh. Self-pity is creeping in despite my best efforts. Time to write an escapist bit of fiction.


  1. God, wouldn't it be easy just to sit and write and never leave the house.

    I don't have to work too hard to make myself got to RWA meetings, but there are a lot of things I struggle with. I tell myself I've committed. It normally works.



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