I lost my gloves Friday. They were a mismatched pair, gone from my pockets somewhere near Rockefeller Center. One was from this pair, one from another pair entirely. I think it was while at lunch with two people I used to work with—I felt uncomfortable with myself, and this was before I lost the gloves. I was either too boring, or too gloomy, or too cheerful, or too bitter, or too something. I willed myself to stop talking, but it didn’t work. Then I had to leave in a hurry, no time to go back to look for the gloves. (I suspect they fell under the table.) Newsflash: I am awkward in social situations, so I tend to overcompensate, and then I get a headache from the strain. It makes me wonder how this appointment really went. Or how lunch went. Or how anything goes, really. I have a lot to do, I know, but this weekend ended up being a wash for me. I felt sick physically. And beyond that I needed to recover from some nameless something. I was searching through the archives of my old email inbox looking for something and came across all these old rejection letters, so that didn’t help. I can’t let the doubt get me before I’ve even really begun.
So I bought a new pair of gloves. But I accidentally picked up a size large, and the fingers are far too long for my actual hands. They flap. I don’t fit as it is, but this is ridiculous.