I'll be transporting a dog to the small city where Hopkins lives this Saturday afternoon. The lady who works with my rescue in the western half of the state usually meets me there, and this is our second transfer of the month.
I am such a coward.
I'm there for a legitimate reason from time to time, but my fear of rejection is so overwhelming that I typically run about two errands (tomorrow, I need dog biscuits that I have to get from the Petco store) and flee.
Nope, "flee" really does cover it.
I write a good game, now, don't I? Being a disembodied typist is a whole lot easier than the self-inflicted psychological beatdown that goes with seeing someone face-to-face. At the end of the day, I'm still that terrified fifteen year-old girl, waiting for him to speak up and petrified of what he might say.
Once again, I'm a little tired, so here's my philosophical thought for the evening: I'm not so petty that I judge anyone by a superfluous piece of paper or lack thereof. Character and intellect matter a great deal more than some indicator that you've spent a lot of money sitting in a classroom for a couple hundred course hours. The people who love you know that...the ones who don't can go squarely to hell.
On that note, I have a headache and I'm going to bed; I've got a lot of driving to do in the morning. It's a hundred and ten miles, one way.