Does life get any better? (Also, I apologize for the length of this post.)

Not to be one of those people who constantly talks about how great their lives are, but this past week was just about the best week of my life. Shall I count the ways? Yes. Yes, I shall.

Thursday, I worked at the Writing Center. I love meeting and working with students, but it's also easy to make people feel like crap, since it's kind of a leadership position. Sometimes I feel like if I say one wrong thing, I'll completely ruin writing for the tutee forever. It's difficult to tell if they feel helped or degraded or just bored. But the student I had for Thursday had a great attitude the entire time, and seemed to be enjoying the session. He smiled and asked good questions and laughed when I tried to be funny. At the end, he said something that no other tutee has ever said to me. "Next time I come in," he asked on his way out, "Is it okay if I sign up for you again?"

I'm pretty sure I started glowing. I tried to contain myself. "Yeah, that would be awesome! I always work Thursdays at this time."

He smiled, and thanked me again.

He validated me.

Friday I lazed around and watched Home Alone 1 and 2 with some of my friends. I'd never seen either before, and spent most of the movies covering my face with my blanket and yelling. I really can't take violence, it turns out. I'm too wimpy or sympathetic or childish, I don't know what. Everyone else was highly amused at my shameful display of wimpery. (That is most certainly not a word.)

Saturday afternoon, Laura (my friend), Sarah (my roommate) and I went to Denny's and then to see The Ugly Truth. I don't think I liked it that much. Upon much reflection, I feel like the whole thing was a lie. There was so much emphasis placed on a shallow view of the world, and so little time spent showing the alternative that I came away from the movie thinking, "Well, apparently fakery and promiscuity CAN get you into a relationship. Particularly if you're really hot." I don't think everyone is shallow, though. I think some people are more into personality than sluttiness.

On Sunday I was supposed to go see a play with my playwriting class, but had a conflict. I asked Nick, a friend of mine who is also in playwriting, if he was going to see the play a different time than the rest of the class, and if he would mind giving me a ride. He did. (Give me a ride, that is. He didn't seem to mind.) The play was interesting and different, although I probably wouldn't see it again, and the conversation to and from the show was energizing. We talked about writing and movies and music and most of the things that really matter in life. I feel awkward about writing all about it because Nick is following this blog, and writing down everything we talked about word-for-word would be freakish. So, I'll just say that it was a great time.

Rewind time: Whilst browsing the tweets of those I follow on Twitter on Tuesday, I came across this tweet from neilhimself (aka Neil Gaiman): "Ohio reminders. I'll be talking, reading & probably signing in Cleveland on Sunday."

It's fair to say that I had a heart attack of pure joy. I convinced Laura (the most amazing friend in the world) to take me. My friend Liz ended up coming with us because she saw my status message about Neil Gaiman and freaked out. On the way there we listened to Disney music and talked excitedly about the man we were going to meet.

We got there about 10 minutes after the auditorium filled up but there was an overflow room. Melanie, one of my best friends, texted me: "He has the flu, so make sure to give him soup or tell him to get better. I'm so jealous that you're going." In response, Liz, Laura and I made him a get-well card. It read: "So, I heard you're sick and decided to make this card." It continued inside: "Thanks for coming to Cleveland anyway, and get well soon." Laura drew a bowl of soup and stick figure versions of us, and Liz drew some pretty flowers for a border.

It was a creeper card. It was wonderful.

Shortly after Liz and I had a angsty conversation in which we threatened self-harm if we couldn't meet our favorite author, who should walk into the room but NEIL GAIMAN! He assured us that he didn't want to turn anyone away, and would sign for us as well. He sounded like a less-sarcastic Alan Rickman. He sounded like I was in love with him. He is probably the sexiest writer in the world. I kid you not.

Anyway, he read bits of two of his books and answered questions from the audience. Several times he looked directly at the camera and addressed the overflow room, which sent shivers down my spine. He was delightful and funny and interesting and more than I ever could have hoped for.

Then we waited in line for 2 and a half hours.

The only thing I could manage to say to him was, "Thank you. Thank you." While he was signing, I remembered the card we'd made for him. "OH!" I said, too loudly (as is my wont) and slipped him the card. "We made this for you," I said vaguely, and he looked at it.

"Oh, virtual soup!" he said in his delightful accent, and I wanted to snog him. (I didn't, I didn't.) I said thank you again, and he handed back my brochure.

"Could we get a picture?" I asked timidly.

"Of course. I'll keep scribbling, but you tell me when to look up," he replied. Liz and I positioned ourselves behind him, and Laura snapped the picture.

As we walked out, I said thank you one last time. I was nervous. My vocabulary evaporated. And I really was thankful! I felt deep gratitude to him for signing things for so long. Although, he was surrounded by 900 people who loved him. I'd probably sign things if that many people loved me.

I think the deeper reason I thanked him so many times had to do with how much I owe him. His writing makes me want to write. His writing has opened up worlds to me that I'd never know otherwise. His writing is an inspiration. His writing has helped me cope with life when I didn't even want to. All I could do was say "Thank you," over and over again.

The car ride home was great. We all took turns gushing about meeting him (Liz showed off the drawing of her future gravestone he did in the cover of her copy of The Graveyard Book) and complaining about how hungry we were and how badly we had to pee. Unfortunately, the McDonalds we stopped at happened to be the slowest McDonalds on the face of the earth. The employees were basically wandering around aimlessly while their manager scowled at the three of us for some unknown reason. One employee made roughly 18 trips to the bathroom while we were there. Another stood off in the corner and texted relentlessly.

We got back around 8:30, and I had to do my homework. I had a mini-breakdown (not really, I'm just a drama queen) and spent too much time on facebook, specifically on Compare People. Sarah and I compared rankings. I'm third most likely to be a good mother, which is crazy, and second best listener, which I like to think is true. I'm also 14th prettiest, which is clearly false. I am definitely nothingth prettiest. I'm first most likely to do a favor, though. That's because I'm nice.

Anyway, after I buckled down and read through that thesis I couldn't get my head around, I stayed up and finished all my homework. It was hard to concentrate when all I could think about was plays, encouragement, friends, movies and Neil Gaiman. What a flipping amazing week. What. A. Week. (Thank you to everyone who made it possible!)