And eventually there will be an ode to her.

A crazy good thing: Time Magazine expressed interest in a pitch I sent them.

A largely anticipated turn of events that shouldn’t qualify as a disappointment: They didn’t buy it.

The plain fact: I have no idea who I was up against. They don’t publish a ton of personal essays, especially from UNKNOWN RANDOM WOMEN. I could have been up against… a famous person. Or, let’s face it, just someone with a better pitch. I am taking the fact that I even attracted their attention as another little cosmic green light.

Right? Right? Okay. Yeah, rejection is never enjoyable. It wasn’t in 2nd grade and isn’t now. But in the end I can’t take it personally. It is NOT personal.

But here’s my medium ego problem…

I feel like I’m… strange. And estranged. And isolated. There’s so many mainstream/popular things that other people care about that I just… don’t. And the only way I can justify my quirks is by telling myself “you’re talented. You’re talented. See?”

I just I wanted all of my strangeness, my isolation, (not to mention my occasional scrapes out of hell) to mean something. And by “something” I guess I mean that the voice of my self-serving God would say: “Caitlin can’t be normal. We had to put her mind in a weird corner so she could watch everyone and do her sweet little reporting with flair.”

I need to come up with an ode to the strange girl inside of me. Maybe not tonight though.

(Side note - I got a new cat. Big change - and little meows (she is soooo quiet!) Her name is Maisey Maeve. She deserves her own seperate blog, dahlings.)