On Tuesday I leave for BEA (Book Expo America). As with any trip, I'm working (too) hard to get everything done before I leave. While I'm in L.A., I won't be working (not for Write Well U or AssistU at least), and since I'm an organizational zealot, I have this urge to get every possible thing on any of the spinning plates completed.
Along with the zealous urges, I'm also scared beyond belief. One of the insane activities I've been partaking in is creating a sell sheet to hand to potential agents and publishers. Yikes! Talk about putting myself out there. It's one thing (and a scary enough thing at that) to tell people you're writing book. It's completely another to HAND SOMEONE A PIECE OF PAPER WITH INFORMATION ABOUT THAT BOOK. (Oh, and to send them to a website with info about said book. Another insane activity - look for a website to magically appear this weekend!)
So I get scared, which leads me to wonky. I haven't really discussed wonkiness before, although I've alluded to it as "funkiness." Being wonky (and this is a Dawn definition, by the way. You won't find this in the OED) is waaaaaay beyond funky. It's that place I go to when I feel like I'm drowning, reaching my hand up, and there's no one there to save me. And I continue to sink. And to feel isolated, alone, and little.
Some people out there have to put up with the wonkiness. Chris is legally obligated as he signed a document almost fifteen years ago that said he'd save me from wonkiness (and as fair turnabout, I agreed to never root for the Dallas Cowboys). My friends have gathered around me. I'm trying hard to reach out for help when I need it (anyone for a bit of wonky today?) in order to stave off wonkiness.
I was talking with a fairly new friend today, and I told him about my wonky day yesterday. He said, "Hey, I'm right here with you."
"Welcome to the crazy train," I said.
(While it's not "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne, "Crazy Babies" is playing on iTunes as I write this. Pretty cool, huh?)
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