worthy

i read the bios of the special guests of the theatre festival i'm going to with my great aunt. they are extremely intimidating and each has their broadway debut listed - either as an actor, writer, director, or designer.

this week could go either way, but as the optimistic narcissist, i predict the following shall occur:

i have a major meltdown that i'm not talented/passionate/dedicated enough as a writer and will never be more than a weekend writer who tries (and fails) to achieve anything with her work.

i cry.

i question everything in my life that has brought me to going back to a normal office job (and failing at that) and wonder if i shouldn't just try more as a writer.

i notice the ugly bedspread of the hotel room and feel it's a perfect description of my life's work.

i attempt to be casual around the special guests, while at the same time desperate for their approval.

i keep up drink for drink with my great aunt and become hysterically drunk and make a fool of myself.

i vomit publicly.

i burn bridges even before they're built.

i get nothing accomplished.

i embarrass my aunt liz and she regrets even making the trip.