In many ways, this has been a wonderful year for me. I’m so excited about my new YA novel coming out in January, IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, and I continue to be crazy about my family, writing, and teaching. But to be honest, between dealing with my mom’s dementia and the losses of some very special people in my life, this past year has also been rough emotionally.
Whenever I’m tempted to go into pity party mode, I imagine how things could be worse. I could, for example, be convicted of a crime I didn’t commit and sent to prison (something that happens more often than we might think, as evidenced by the Innocence Project). Or I could be hopelessly lost somewhere, wondering if I’ll ever find my way back home (Actually been there and done that—no fun).
Then there’s the bookaholic’s worst nightmare. After a series of cataclysmic events, all the libraries and bookstores in the world could close. Books could become impossible to get, and reading could be banned. Wow, just the thought makes me want to dash to Barnes and Noble before it’s too late.
As for domestic disasters, I could have the misfortune of being married to Mitch McConnell or the Donald. My condolences go out to Elaine and Melania, who seem like perfectly nice people.
When my dad really didn’t like somebody, he would say: “I couldn’t be married to her for five minutes!” Well, that’s how I feel about Mitch and Donald. I don’t really need to explain, do I?
Of course, speaking of the Donald, if I really want to comfort myself, I can be thankful I’m not one of his children, nor am I a part of the current Administration (hard to tell whether folks feel more thankful when they get fired or have been spared for the moment). And being Billy Bush would definitely be no fun.
Like I said, things could be worse.