Cautious

It's Friday night and I'm alone with three cantankerous cats. (I love them dearly, but they are getting on my last nerve. Java has finally settled on the couch next to me.) It's too cold to garden, but I'm grateful for the much-needed rainfall. I submitted a proposal to present at a MLS conference in October. It's on the seemingly never-ending independent study I'm (finally) finishing up. I hope it gets accepted. At this point, I'm going to be cautiously optimistic. I'm still waiting to hear back to see if I won a scholarship based on one of my papers from my writing class. Caution works well for me these days. I put in the proverbial toe first and then wait to see if the floor drops. As a professional told me this week, "I'm working too hard to be okay among everyone else." I then asked him if he could prescribe me a new brain, so I could feel like I am okay among the world. That wasn't an option. I need to learn to embrace the good things with ADD, but sometimes--okay most times-- I just HATE it. I would give up every ounce of creativity--every last drop-- to have a normal brain. The Scarecrow and I could cavort down the yellow brick road and meet the Wizard for brains, but he even turns out to be a fraud. In my entire life, for as long as I can remember, I have never felt like I have measured up. And until I die, I probably never will, until I can change my perception.