It probably says a lot about me that I can’t hear the phrase “lowered expectations” and not think of an old MADtv skit about a dating company gone horribly wrong. But this post is not about my inane sense of humor.
Rather, it’s about my writer insanity. After the euphoria and panic of last week’s HaulAssDraft, I should have sat quietly in my corner and nursed my aching wrists. Instead, the flag went up that Round Two would be starting and before I could stop myself, I had yelled MEMEMEMEMEME!!! on Twitter.
Sometimes I want to shake myself.
Same rules as last week, and though I’m doing better word count wise, I’m still in danger of tweeting the Tweet of Shame (this time it’s something about having a lint & ear wax fetish). My friendpetitors (I like it!) are kicking my butt. I don’t begrudge them words (after all this means more for me to read!), but I was starting to feel a bit losery (another fine Sasha-ism).
Logically, it occurs to me that all of us have different things on our plate, and therefore the expectations shouldn’t be the same. A race between a newly legless man and a 7-time Boston Marathon winner *is* still a race, but only an idiot would expect it to be an even race. (And yes, I did just compare myself to a newly legless man, don’t judge.) The legless man could finish the race (yes I will beat this analogy to death!), but it’ll be harder, bloodier, and maybe, once he catches his breath more rewarding.
Legless Man Out!
#HaulAssDraft Rd2: 8,472