Yesterday: wake up with two stress zits on my chin. Realize I am totally out of coffee. Walk a friend's dog, ride my bike to work. Realize I left my phone at my friend's house. Ride back to get it. Come back to office. Boss and wife are there, express concern about my well-being. Apparently I look stressed.
Get to work on Bastion stuff, and work stuff. Take a bathroom break. Come out, and my bike, usually parked in front of the water cooler, inside the office, is GONE. Run out the back door. Spot helmet in the courtyard (which is supposed to be locked and secure). Some crackhead ran off with my bike! Feel like barfing. Start shaking, am very distressed. My keys, money, and medicine were in my bike pack. My bike is my transportation, my fun, my healthy stress release, stickered with proof that I finished three triathlons. Am also mostly broke, so no idea when I'll fricking get another one.
Am pissed. Feel violated. Am wondering for the eight millionth time if I made the right decision in moving to Chicago. Am wondering for the eight millionth time if I'm going to actually be able to making a living as writer. Hope so, since it's pretty much all I can do.
Home. Contacted by Charna Halpern, founder of I.O., teacher and mother-by-proxy to half of the cast of SNL and MadTV, just to name a few. She's responding to my request for an interview with the Bastion. She says my questions are "great." Her answers are fantastic. One question, which I almost cut because I thought it was too smarty-pantsed, yielded some amazing stories from her life with improv god Del Close.
Lose sleep to edit and format the interview. Read it. Re-read it. Print it out and admire how substantial the text looks on paper. Thrilled with the end result. Feel like a real writer. Re-read it several more times. Am pleased.
Realize that my "Interviews With Bloggers" project has prepared me for this particular task. Closer to appreciating that maybe things do happen as they should, and that maybe I'll be okay after all.
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