Slush Day

Selfies with Lyall always go awry. One of us inevitably ends up looking stupid. Or, in this case, both. And yet I continue to do it, all the time. 

Today was a good day. I got to work late because the first bus that came by my stop was "drop off only" (okay whatever guys), and the next one got stuck at the next stop and the driver had to make somebody go out and tell him when there was no traffic so he could back up out of the ice. But I made it to work! I probably could have stayed home and worked remotely, but I was so fucking stir crazy after being pretty much trapped inside all weekend.

After work I took the bus to my poor stranded car, where I had planned to get in and speed away all cool out of the slush, with my sunglasses on, yeaahhhhh. But I was actually still stuck in the snow. So I had to call Louise's boyfriend and make him shovel all the snow and ice out of the way, and then he and two strangers who came out of the woodwork helped me push my car out of the mire. Has anyone else noticed that strangers are always coming out of the woodwork to make themselves helpful in Portland? It's like you can't go two steps without someone being pleasant or useful to you in some way. Disconcerting after living in London, but I still love it. Because Portland.

Then Louise, her boyfriend, and I all met up at the Tabor Tavern for happy hour. Next time I'm getting the cauliflower fritters. And not the chili. Warning, future self: always ask if the chili is spicy before you order it.

And then, for some godforsaken reason that nobody will ever fully understand, Louise made us all go to Pix Patisserie, which was amazing and horrible and we ordered like two tiny things to share, and I felt like I was going to fold in on myself, the dessert in my stomach was so dense. Oh man.

Anyway. Tomorrow the first chapter of my book is being workshopped at the writing group, and I'm super nervous. The groups are switched up every week so I'm not sure I even know everyone who will be giving me feedback, and ugh. I'm super worried nobody will get it and everyone will think I'm the worst writer they've ever come across and will throw me out into the street and start chucking slush at me.

I mean it's a rational fear though.

I'm really excited, despite the terror. Hopefully this will motivate me to actually revise my novel a bit more, and maybe actually make it publishable? Maybe? Eh. We'll see. In the meantime I've started the "coming to Portland" short story, which is painfully autobiographical so far and could stand to be more interesting. Sometimes real life is interesting, but other times it's just a long string of really pointless dialogue with no apparent purpose.

Just like my novel.

Haha I'm kidding!! Am I? No. Okay. I'm going to bed. Because I work at an unholy hour and I still have to dry my hair.