Perfectly Imperfect

I am not perfect. No one is, but this is about me.

I want to do everything right, and please the three editors I report to (at three publications). That is not always possible.

Two trains tried to get on the track at the same junction this week. Neither fully merged on. Both were delayed. And the conductor was me.

But still, it is bedtime. I have to rest, and eat properly, and take my medicines, and remove my Guerlain mascara with Vaseline (I still do that, and think Jane Fonda did, too) and talk to Punch about something important. Tomorrow, I will do my best.

Good night.