A Bad Girl Comes Home

Today was one of those days when everything I touched seemed to go to hell in a handbasket. Simple tasks suddenly became unbelievably difficult, and more complex tasks morphed into new age versions of the Gordian Knot.

Patience is not my best subject. In fact, it's not even in my top ten best subjects. When my bangs start getting too long, I take a scissors to them instead of calling for an appointment to get my hair cut. Instead of waiting for the shuttle bus to take me across campus, I simply walk--through the construction site, across the field, whatever--I'd rather walk for twenty minutes in the Texas heat than stand around for ten in the bus shelter.

Today was pure torture. It didn't even help to meet a friend for lunch and indulge in the third best chicken fried steak in Dallas (according to D Magazine and, believe me, Texans take their chicken fried steak seriously).

The heat index was expected to reach 107 today. By the time I headed home, I was beyond irritation. I decided to stop at a favorite restaurant and pick up a meal to go.

And, of course, the restaurant was closed--permanently--after being open for business for less than a year.

I arrived home, ready to pack it in for the day, only to find an email from my agent Jacky. She said she'd received a copy of my novel from my editor.

I didn't even wait to finish the email. I raced for the front door.

There on my welcome mat was an envelope from Tracy. I ripped it open to hold my book in my hands.

All of a sudden, the day didn't seem so bad after all.