Jinx

I've just done something idiotic.

After feeling antsy and twitchy all day, I confided to a group of chums that there's the teeniest chance that the publishing thing might go well -- or land itself smack in the toilet, where it will disappear with nary an audible "whoosh!"

And in my life, this always seems to be the worst possible mistake. To admit that things are afoot before the results are in. It's like announcing my doom -- and once admitted, my optimism goes sliding right out beneath my feet. Then, failure. Bitter, inescapable failure.

Now people will ask about the outcome... and I shall have to look look them firmly in the eye and say, "I buggered it up. Again."

Idiotic.

My consolation, how ever, rests within these two things: 1) The Seatbelts' "Tank!" always cheers me up enormously (ah, Cowboy Bebop); and 2) The snow falling outside -- while unwelcome, these fine little flakes have a decided sparkle about them, glittering and winking as they dance to the ground.

It's not much. But for now, it's enough.