Well, I should be happy. Hell, I should be ecstatic! But instead I'm alone in my room seething about what will happen only hours from now.
Months ago my very close friend, Matt McTigue, offered me a chance to show my work at the Trump Tower downtown. His mother was hosting an event for abused and abandoned children, and she wanted to know if I could donate a piece for the fundraiser. Since I find fundraisers to be the most important and influential events, I immediately accepted.
Months ago I did not have a job or any other obligations whatsoever. I thought so little about needing to schedule around the event, or ensuring I'd be free, because I was free every single day of the weekend. No questions asked.
Months ago I had no idea I would never go to the event that I had banked on attending.
The event is tonight at 7pm. Where will I be? I'll be ushering guests around my beloved J. Alexander's restaurant. Meeting, greeting, seating 'til 10:30 tonight. I love working for my restaurant. I think the establishment is the most respectable place I have ever worked for. I think they are fair, considerate, and level-headed. So then why am I so mad?
I am disgusted with myself that I did not plan accordingly for tonight. It is my fault, and now I must suffer through this god-forsaken evening smiling and prancing around like I am nothing more than a vessel bringing hungry diners to their meals. I hate myself right now.