Hey so the other day when I was writing about how it’s hard to plan because my life is too unpredictable…well I’ve just been chugging along lately getting lots done…which is great. Of course I have two events launching this weekend and I’ll be working seven days/week as a result, for the next several months…which is fine…
Thus, it was clearly time for my husband to become ill this week. I am not AT ALL irritated with him, but it meant that I lost a lot of work time this week, so here I am the night before an event and I’m sleep-deprived, I’m not ready, and I’m almost too loopy to care. Now one of the kids is sick and has come home early from school. Right on cue, I get a nasty email this week from one of the perfect people of the world, mad at me because I failed to respond to an email. An email. As in one email. One email that did not revolve around heart failure, cancer, death of a loved one, or death of a pet. It was about folk art.
FOLK ART IS VERY FUCKING IMPORTANT.
You know…what would we do without the perfect people of the world? I really don’t know how I would have managed to fully comprehend what a fuck-up I am this week, without this woman that I don’t know making sure I’m up on the details of my fuck-uppery.
It was very enlightening, actually. Apparently, according to her, every other event promoter that SHE ever works with, never has personal stuff that gets in the way of running their BUSINESS because THEY are PROFESSIONALS. Well what a relief that is.
It’s always great, as a working parent (with ADHD, not that it matters), who does the work that they do to try to add something positive to the community, who incidentally receives a FUCKING TON of email every week – to have a cranky, nasty, retired person point out to me that a) they are more perfect than I am b) my “process” is an incomprehensible failure c) I’m unprofessional and d) that EVERY other person who does what I do is better at it than I am.
Let’s see, am I missing something…oh yes, apparently lots of other people are upset about me sucking so much too. That’s apparently why I haven’t heard about it, and why I have returning vendors.
I guess that’s all settled then. I think I’ll go stick my own head in a toilet and drink myself to death with White Russians, because hey, if I’m gonna really take this woman seriously, I’d better go out Lebowski style. Lebowski, Patron Saint of Losers.
Thank you, Perfect People! What would I have done without YOU this week!!!