espresso nerves

If y’all knew how nervous and obsessive I can get over certain things, you’d probably get annoyed with me and stop reading this blog.

For instance, I live in the shadow of a fear of having my carry-on rejected at the airport. That’s happened to me once in my life — the same raggedy, navy blue Perry Ellis pilot case I’ve been hauling around since I was born was suddenly deemed too big by someone at Houston Intercontinental (a.k.a. Daddy Bush Airport). And it upset me so badly I almost cried. See, I go through a lot of trouble to pack everything in that one case — even if it’s for a year-long trip — and I do that because I’m convinced that if/when I ever check a bag, it’s destined to be lost.

You know?

And, apparently, losing my painstakingly selected clothing and toilettries is the stuff of nightmares for me. Never mind that those things can be found in any city I might visit — I can’t even hang with the thought. My friend Ashley pointed out the other day that I keep tight control over my image, and having my image under the control of others bothers me. That’s not the most flattering trait, but I’ll readily own up to it. She said this because


because I was reliving the annoyance I felt when, more than a year ago, some person had the nerve to tell me that I shouldn’t wear makeup. That I didn’t need it. But more than that, this person seemed to be saying that it bothered her that I wore it, because of whatever “feminist” (more likely classist) issue she was struggling with.

And I was like, “Who does that? Who tells people what to wear or how to look? Who has that kind of nerve?”

Besides men, I mean.

Just kidding!

I’m just saying. I have these issues. I think y’all know that. I think y’all might have gathered that after 10+ years of reading this site…

back on topic

The other day, someone tweeted on Twitter that an airline had misplaced her bag. And then she was listing some of the things she was having to do without. And, dudes, I nearly had a panic attack on her behalf. She was very calm and pressurized grace, though. Jackie! I was so worried for you, Jackie! I hope you’re okay!

coming down now

Really, I think I just get nervous over stuff when I’m about to have a reading. I had a reading this morning, and it went well, despite or because of my background obsession with my carry-on bag and the potential rejection of it.

People were like, “Oh, hi. How did you get the idea to write this book?”

And I was like, “After this I have to go to T.J. Maxx and buy a smaller pilot case.”

And they were like, “Uh… Can you just sign my book, then?”

I got to read to a bunch of kids and they were pretty awesome. Some of them made the funniest comments when the bookstore owner read to them. (She’s reading Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog, and one of the characters in it says, “Have you ever tasted a hot dog?” and this 3.5-year-old kid calls out, “I ate one last night!” all matter-of-fact.) And then, of course, I got to sign books for some older kids, and they cracked me up, too. This one little boy holds my book open to the back page, where there’s a photo of me and one of the illustrator, and he goes, “Is one of these supposed to be you? You don’t look like them.”

So I told him I’d give him a dollar if he went to a Jonathan Franzen reading and said the same thing.


And now the reading’s over, and I got something blood-sugar-restoring to eat, and typing this to you guys has made me feel better. Now I can be calm.

Until I get to the airport in a few hours, and find out that they won’t accept my carry-on, I mean. Or until tomorrow’s readings. Or until the ones on the day after that.

I always tell people that doing readings is easy for me — that it doesn’t make me nervous at all. But I’m starting to suspect that I’ve been lying all along. :)

raspberry ants

I don’t have any. Yet? Everyone’s talking about them today, and someone at the book store said they were all over her house. But I haven’t seen them. They sound kind of awesome, if you read that article. Not that I want them around… But y’all know I have a soft spot for ants, and also for crazy people, and these Crazy Raspberry Ants sound like three great tastes that taste great together, don’t they?

(Knocking on wood now.)

Be Sociable, Share!
Posted in Houston, trauma, writing on 05/15/2008 06:46 pm

Leave a Reply

Comments are closed.