I just got off the phone with a classmate who didn't make it to my party last night. I haven't seen him in quite some time.
"How are you, Hyde?" he asked.
"I'm pretty good. How are you?"
"Are you sure?"
"What do you mean?"
"You must be pretty hung over right about now!" he chuckled.
"I'm not drinking anymore!"
I explained to him that I'm now sober.
"So, I guess that increases my odds!" he laughed.
"Your odds? What are you talking about?"
"Don't you remember?" he asked. "We all placed bets-- You were either going to have published some brilliant book or be dead by 35. We took bets on which way it would tip."
"Well, I'm glad you bet on the book..."
Yes, I'm glad that I'm no longer giving my classmates reason to pity my life as one of wasted potential culminating in death before 40.
Hmm...
I need to stop crying about Brick. Yes, he hurt me. Yes, it hurts like hell. (And probably will for a while). But, my life is my own. And, I have some books to write...
-h-
4 comments:
Yes, Hyde, take care of youself and do your writing. Put Brick out of your mind the best you can. Like I said in my last comment-- it is truly his loss, not yours.
Publishing author or dead by 35? Goddamn, that's a hell of a way to label someone. How do you meet these folks and why are they all laying these bombs on you at once?
You deserve some serious cheering up and I promise to do my best once I get back to New York.
Get cracking with that writing then honey!
I'm glad you can see that you can't let someone else destroy your potential.
Hang in there, woman!
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