It's Elmo's World; I Just Live In It

A rejection arrived in my mailbox today, the second in as many weeks. There's always that ridiculous moment of hope before I open the envelope. It's just like Charlie peeling open his candy bar thinking that, you know, it's possible that the fifth golden ticket will be wrapped around the chocolate. Of course, he got to savor the sweet and also eventually made it to Willy Wonka's factory. All I got was a papercut. I only had Elmo Band-Aids in my bathroom cabinet, so now every time I catch a glimpse of my finger, a grinning muppet mocks both my physical discomfort and my bruised writer's ego. Fine. That's fine.