I sent it this morning, at around nine o’clock. All I’ve done since is wait patiently in front of the computer, staring blindly at my inbox.
It gave me a lot of time to think. Mainly about how it is a wonder I haven’t been busted yet. I mean, this is my NINETY-NINTH post. I’ve been blogging for a little over a year now. I have more than two trillion subscribers [I wish] and a global fan following.
But my parents STILL haven’t figured out?? Weird.
I’ve thought about my career ambitions as well. About how I’ve evolved, both as a person and as a writer, during my blogging journey. About how much I’ve changed. And how much more food I am able to consume in two minutes flat [I think I’ve got a pretty good shot at the world record].
And it’s sad. I always thought that by the time I’ve lived three vast years on the earth, I’d have SOMETHING to be proud of besides my stomach capacity. Oh, and the number of consecutive times I can fake-burp [which is, I have to say, pretty impressive].
But there isn’t. That’s about my complete list of talents. Eating and fake-belching. Oh, and giving advice [which any old grandma can do just fine].