I sent this to MonkeyScientist, and then I realized I liked it so much I'll expand it and share it with you too. I am really, really loopy this morning. I've had a two-hour nap and half a pound of dried nectarines; my viscera are making all kinds of fascinating noises. I have one more article to finish and then I'm going back to bed.
the Universe loves me so much that it has sent me this particular editor so I can become a better writer, and a more patient person.
S/he's going to want me to change the piece I just e-mailed. Possibly quite a bit. I am not the piece; the piece is not me. I can change the piece. I want to change the piece. The thought of changing the piece to her/his specifications fills me with radiant joy and love.
Money is ephemeral, art eternal.
Double Chocolate Milanos are fleeting, but their crumbs live forever in my keyboard.
I gaze benevolently upon myself from slightly above, and to the left. I observe my breathing, the flow of my thoughts, and the way that one fingernail that is longer than the others keeps accidentally snagging the CAPS LOCK key and making me go back and fix shit.
Go in peace.