Confidence Isn’t Always Pretty

Confidence is hard.
Confidence is hard.

In an act of brilliant restraint, I am not going to complain about my stomach’s foul reaction to this confidence-crap.

Neither am I going to note in excessive detail my right shoulder’s rigor mortis like state most of yesterday as all the stress/anxiety/panic/panic/PANIC not addressed my stomach settled like a bloody boulder in my arm.

Nope, not going to mention that.

I will, however, proudly state that while my body rebelled most stupidly at Pound’s release yesterday, I held tight to my newly found confidence all day.

I did not obsess.

I did not curl up into a fetal ball more than three times.

I did not declare my writing career legally dead… at least, not out loud.

I did not obsess.

I did not tear/rip/yank a single strand of hair out of my head when Pound failed to show up on Amazon all freaking day. (Still not there, by the way. At least where I can find it.)

I did not starve myself. (A plate of peanut butter crackers and a bowl of chocolate ice cream is plenty to see a confident soul through the day, thank you very much.)

Did I mention, I did not obsess?

Overall, I survived with most of my dignity intact.

Please insert applause and a deep-muscle massage right here.

Thank you and have a nice day.

Until tomorrow…


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