It always seems to happen on a Friday. I have come to dread arriving home form the 'proper' job, sitting down and reading my emails. I wonder if the agents have a massive splurge come Fridays and rush to clear out just a few more from their undoubtedly huge piles.
This time, because they'd had it nearly 7 weeks and in their preliminary email they'd suggested that if a rejection was coming it would be quick to come, I'd made that fatal mistake: getting my hopes up.
The email when it did come was a standard one but it felt just a little bit more personal as the agent wrote, 'Despite your funny and engaging style ...'
The 'despite' was enough; I didn't have to read any further. But I did. Just in case I was misinterpreting Just in case she'd had a change of heart by the time she'd finished typing the email. Just in case she could offer me a gleam of hope.
She hadn't; she didn't.
It's okay; I can handle this. After all I'm used to it.
No, I can't. Not yet anyway. Maybe tomorrow I'll pick myself up and submit it to another agent but for tonight allow me to wallow.