It's not that I like to complain (though I do like it), but why does this week already feel like one of those where (assuming I survive at all) I'll emerge on teh far side, look back, and just shake my head and be glad to be past that sucky run of days.
Last week was nice. I could stand another week like last week. Phone calls to managers and agents and producer types all went better than expected. QUEEN OF THE SKY (aka "LILYA") managed to get in to be read by a nice handful of people, any of whom could be the spark that lights the fuse to potentially send this rocket into the sky.
Projects pitched to possible allies and producers all were met with warm eager receptions.
Impossible schedule obligations and permutations were met head on and overcome with grace and aplomb.
My first turn at CubMaster went off smoothly and efficiently (and the kids all had a great time handling boas and milk snakes from "The Snake Man").
My son's football fourth grade football team won its game 41-0.
It was a good week.
But this is this week, and this week I get handed less enjoyable stuff to deal with. I'll not go into inane detail, but in the opast week we've had a dishwasher go out, a tire go bad, three toilets back up, a cat get locked in a closet and try to tunnel her way out through the carpet (and make it only so far as the slab), and now I find that my dog—an adopted pound puppy—requires reconstructive knee surgery costing an estimated three thousand dollars.
(The vet was not at all amused by my response: "Doc, the dog only cost me 30 bucks NEW!")
On the bright side, I'm still not yet dinked from the Nicholl, my kids still rock, my wife remains the most tolerant annd forgiving human not boasting sainthood, and beer remains good and good for you.
We'll take what blessings we can rationalize, sometimes.