I survived Book Fair, but barely. My mom came to help me this year, for the first time! I hope she wasn't traumatized, and I hope she will come back next time (thanks, mommy!). Despite her tremendous help, I am left a mere husk of my former self. Somehow I managed to squeak through the week, literally, with a case of laryngitis, capped off by a truly delightful bout of hives.
When I say that book fairs are stressful for me, I'm not just whining. I may honestly be allergic to book fairs. At the very least, they are psychologically damaging for me.
With time, I will eventually stop having night terrors about explaining the intricacies of sales tax and the concept of buy-one-get-one-free. The scars will remain, though. I bet if I ever did ayahuasca, all of us would be vomiting and purging our traumas and everyone else would be unloading stories of abuse or abandonment or feelings of inadequacy and I'm just over here purging the thought of having to count a child's crumpled pile of sweat-soaked dollar bills. Forget anything bad that ever happened to me before the age of 30. All my traumas are triggered by Clifford the Friggin' Big Red Dog.
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| legitimately terrifying |
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What happens to my body when I eat spicy food? I become immortal. That's what.
Analog Reading:
I finally reached the tail end of Butts: A back story by Heather Radke. It was great. Butts ARE funny, but there's also a lot of cultural and racial significance to unpack from that trunk.
Just started Maggie O'Farrell's Hamnet. Too early to form an opinion!
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