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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Gauguin who wrote (39198)	10/5/1999 8:09:00 PM
From: Rambi	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

On my way home from the doctor's I was listening to Paul Harvey... He said some woman in China paid 15000 dollars for stomach pills that were guaranteed to prevent her from getting the deadly Y2K bug. My week continues to be farcical. Latest update on the Many Faces and Asses of Rambi. The doctor - a new pulmonary specialist/allergist- walked in where I was sitting reading THe Moral Animal. "This is a great book" I said. "You ought to read it." "It's too fat." he said. Oh great. This is my doctor? He doesn't read? Did he study medicine out of magazines? And what would you like me to do for you today?" "Make me wealthy. Make me look 25 again." I said, ever witty. "Hmm." he started reading that form you have to fill out when you go to a new doctor. "How old are you, Mrs. Westbrook?" "51" I said. Damn it. It's written right there. "Hmm. That's what it says, but I thought it was a typo. You look much younger." I loved this doctor. UNtil he informed me that I'm functioning on only 2/3 of my lungs- which I thought was alarming. Especially after he said, that if someone were to take 1/3 of his lung power away at that moment, he would fall on the floor and have to be rushed to emergency. I started feeling oxygen-deprived. I yawned. Gasped. "How long do I have?" He said my asthma had slowly decreased my capacity over several years. BUT he can FIX me!!!!!!! I LOVE this doctor. SO that was a good thing. Here's the bad thing. Some of you know I submitted a manuscript early in the summer to an agent. She told me they would let me know in 6-8 weeks. 6- 8 weeks went by- 10- 12-- Finally this weekend, (Week 14)I think, I am going to be dead soon. (although I didn't know at the time I was functioning on only 2/3 of my lung power). If I have to wait 6 months to be rejected for every submission, I will NEVER get anything published and be a world famous author, wined and dined and pursued by handsome young gigolos while still able to enjoy it. SO I wrote an e-mail. It took me hours to write one paragraph. I wanted to be pathetic enough that she would feel compassion, yet witty so that she wouldn't feel disgusted pity at my groveling. I wrote something like- "I hope I'm not committing the literary equivalent of burping at your dinner table, but...." She called today. What manuscript? SHe couldn't find it. It was lost. Gone. Not there. She was extremely nice and apologetic- send another, if I trusted her. Really- like what do you say? I dread tomorrow. I don't know what it might bring. My moon has obviously conjugated illegitimately with my sun and there is just all hell to pay.