So, I've figured it out. The lack of silverware in my trophy case (Pulitzer Prizes, Tony Awards, Grammy Awards, OBE's, etc.) is not really an indication of mediocrity and lack of achievement, but a testament to my great humanity. I get started on something and a furry critter distracts me or demands my immediate and undivided attention, and the perfect formula for cold fusion (or the theme and exposition of the Great American Novel) is temporarily shelved. I shift my focus and fully commit to fulfilling the pressing needs of the said critter. When I get back to it I can't remember what I was doing, much less the solution to world hunger. I will just have to accept the fact that I will only ever be as wonderful as my critters think I am—and that's pretty wonderful.
Gotta go. There's an affection crisis lurking.
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