The last time I scheduled an “art talk,” a very integral person forgot to show up. Me.  I forgot to show up to my own talk.  Self-promotion is a rough gig for most people, and I am in the bottom of the bin when it comes down to it.  That was a new low.  However, I am ashamed to say I can go even lower. I said I’d be bringing by a bottle of wine as a “forgive me” to the person who set-up the show. Forgot.  She asked me to collect my business cards in their cool business card holder stand my husband personalized for me. Procrastinated.  When I eventually came for it, it had acquired new residents so I had to leave the stack of miscellaneous business cards that had moved in, and even though the holder was mine, I felt like the Grinch snatching the last can of Who-hash. But today is a new day.

I’m giving a talk at what has begun to feel like my home gallery space (Waverly Heights).  I made a list earlier in the week and I’m happy to say, I’m actually prepared. My stuff is loaded neatly in my messy car, and right off the bat it’s going to be an improvement because I actually remembered the talk is tonight; so I’ll be there. If I forget to go, then my problems are far worse than I ever could have imagined.