September 22, 2013 § Leave a comment
a woman gave me the finger on i-70 east. she was driving a celica and had a long blue claw nail. i bet she loves to flash it, but i’m skeptical about her fine motor skills are.
actually, it was amazing. i felt really lucky.
i noticed that instead of writing, i just talk to myself more, or have running soliloquies that i practice in the shower. it has to change. i have always folded in on myself, and this served as my voice
GAG GAAGGG UGGGHA UGG UG (grape lady stomp sounds)
you may think, oh i have children, i run, i got a bunch of dumb dogs, i made a broccoli side dish that looks like a steaming pile, i wear sports colors. you may have these thoughts. what thoughts are and are not worth sharing?
as always seems to happen when i finally remember to write, Guy is on a trip. he went to bed early last night. i stayed up and wrote him a four page letter, in which i mentioned our pet hermit crab.
the tarot card reader at the renaissance festival said, “i don’t need to tell you that everything is great right now,” but i wish he had spelled it out a little bit.
like when you ask someone, tell me why i’m pretty. i think i could learn to ask myself, and see myself, if i didn’t avoid mirrors so habitually.
not to say i avoid them like a dramatic aunt. i just seem to forget about them. i wore the same dirty green shirt twice last week, both times forgetting it had an ice cream stain on the collar. and from all my students, not one alert.
we should have a seminar day where we discuss the social obligation to tell others they have food on them. when i think about teaching them overall, i think, what the actual fuck is my goal here? writing? i cringe when i read when i was 18, and i’m fine now. time takes care of a lot.
but also when i was 18, i had a pet snail. and on the internet, occasionally in detail, i wrote about my dating efforts, entirely failures. would’ve helped if i hadn’t pined for such fuckfaces.
i shut down the old press when i turned 24 because i wanted to be a different person and a friend told me that we construct our own narratives. now i am a slightly different person and i have a love and FIVE CRABS and a cat, and i don’t write anymore, and it can be a broccoli shitpile.