With my Daughter Hat firmly reattached to my head, I believe I have finally settled in for the whole holiday run. There should be no more dragging myself and my four-legged, furry muse across state lines until after Santa comes and goes.
The fact that we ended up on the wrong side of the state line for my authorly instincts is neither here nor there really. My Writer Hat has been essentially on sabbatical since August anyway so a few more weeks on the shelf shouldn’t make much difference to the old chapeau. Maybe a layer of dust will add a bit of charm to the whole Chloe Stowe ensemble? Nostalgia sells, right? A rusty writer should sell marvelously… at least, to the flea market crowd.
Seeing as I’m slowly screwing my self-esteem down into a hole with this post, I’m going to abandon this holiday cheer effort here. I’m feeling rather disgusted with my selfishness and doubt I’m worthy of donning any hat at the moment…
Oh well, I probably deserve a cold head.