Drafts
when i write things, i get to write drafts.
when its live, there's just one take.
i walk with madhavi to kinkos, on an errand from work to take advantage of her swinging by to say hello. we talk about her ex and mine. we talk about how the emotions have shifted around. we talk about where we are.
the corner of franklin and hayes, she says.
he still makes me anxious, her ex. out of habit, now, not because he's actually acting dodgy or anything. i just don't trust him to behave predictably because of how things were. and so much of that history could have used another pass before publication. but it's too late. the edition is out, all full of typos, misquotes, with that whole page missing and -- god! why didn't i cut that whole story line? bad bad bad.
no drafts, though.
it is what it was. life has no director's cut.
i'm just looking into hiring a better editor.
and why am i in such an off mood? kissing her goodbye as she jumped on the 21, all i saw was the sparkles in her eyes and the future. so wide open and scary even when all of it looks so promising.
