Things have gotten better, and somehow worse, in the Mandy/Martin household. After the virus, then pink eye, there was a brief stint of relief. The girls went back to daycare. I did a podcast, went to Ikea, ate meatballs in the cafeteria across from an older woman also eating
The fight with my parents has seemingly resolved itself, yet the past week I’ve been waking at 3 a.m. in what I believe are panic attacks.
This is new for me. I don’t really panic. I get sad. I cry. But I don’t
Today is my second daughter’s first birthday. When I dropped her off at daycare this morning the teachers had a sign and balloons and started singing Happy Birthday. Then Ms. Nadiyah came over to me and said, “Can you believe it! She’s one!”
When
The thing no writer will say is their agent probably hasn’t called in six months. That they speak to their agent twice, maybe once, a year. That in reality, they’re terrified of their agent.
When you get a message like this, when someone showers you with their interpretation of your actions, it doesn’t just make you feel bad, it makes you question yourself.
She’s caught off guard. She doesn’t understand. She disagrees. She thinks I’m seeing things wrong. Either way, the conversation is being had. I am saying the things I need to get off my chest. She takes it surprisingly well, I think, after she hangs up. Five hours later a text arrives.