Baggage

Last evening I went to my final Wildlife Rescue First Responder class, received my cute little diploma. Then I walked on up Main Street (up meaning up the steep hill) and prepared myself to hand over my drawings and descriptions of ideas for the sets to Sharon, the director of The Secret Garden. Unfortunately, she wasn't there. So this morning, before launch sequence began at 10:45, I scanned the drawings, inserted them into the Word document of descriptions, and emailed the whole package to her. Thirteen hours later, I have had no response.

I have vivid memories of my dad making up amazingly detailed stories about why he hadn't heard from someone. He dredges up a memory of something he thinks he might have said to offend them, or not said that he should have, or did or didn't do, and he believes in his heart that one of these scenarios must be true all the way up until he finally does hear from them, and it turns out that they were out of town, or caring for a sick relative, or just really busy in some way that made getting in touch impossible.

Well, my drawings were crap, my ideas were stupid, she's embarrassed to have to tell me how much she hates the work I have done, and that she's changed her mind about wanting me to design her sets. I don't blame her.

Thanks, Dad.