It was Thursday when I contacted one of our contributors to the online portal I am working for. My anxiety levels were bursting out the roof, and I was previously nervous because of the things happening in my life. My sister and her two kids were still here, bringing fun into our home. We went for a stroll, gathered some poisonous leaves to decorate our front gate. You read this already in the past blabbering, so I am not going to repeat myself.
All in all, we did our work in the morning, and I got the time to take a shower, get my fresh clothes, get dressed, perfumed, style my beard, get ready for the city. I needed to meet this dazzling girl, a contributor, a great poet, and a talented individual because she was the first person ever to buy the first copy of my novel in the first hour the book came out in sales. She lives in a town way to the south, far from where I dwell. She and her boyfriend came to my place for vacation, stayed here for a week, enjoyed all the delightful things this touristic hotspot has to offer. And we finally made contact, spoke on the phone and agreed to meet somewhere in the town. So I readied, grabbed a spare pen, and got to the car. With a bit of help from meds, I got everything under control, which turned Thursday into an enjoyable day. We meet at the café place the locals call Irish Pub. Linden trees were putting on their green dresses, casting shade far and wide; the Sun was shining, bringing up the temperature to cozy 35 degrees Celsius. I got there, shook her hand, met her boyfriend, chatted about our mutual things, the greatness of the little town I called home, and learned so much about them. Sometime in the middle of our conversation, she took the book out of her purse for me to sign it. I scribbled some words on it, expressed my gratitude, and smiled, handing the book back to her. Not much after that, I proceeded to conduct myself as a gentleman, paid for the round of drinks we had, shook their hands again, and left to find my niece and nephew in the town’s park, on the swings, on the slides, running around the trees, giggling and pulling my sleeves to join them.
It all went better than I hoped for, which is one more scenario that proves me an idiot for overthinking, stressing out, and worrying about what an impression I’ll leave on the strangers. I am not proud of this problem I have, but damn it, there it is, a torturing device called the brain. Thank God it all went good. And here are some photos of me. Just look at that belly, and pose. With close inspection, you can actually spot the dread in my eyes.