What have I even been doing these last few days? I have no idea. LIterally. You know how one day sorta blends into the next and pretty soon a week goes by and you're like, where am I/how did I get here/this is not my beautiful wife? I swear that's a good description of things on this end. I know I've had a cold for which I had to take an actual sick day off from work to lay on the couch and feel miserable. I hate sick days on which you are actually sick, it seems like such a waste of a day off. I know I have also been eating ice cream which first of all, I never do and second of all, I don't begrudge someone their ice cream but for me, it's a once a year type activity/give or take it, but yet here I am buying Ben and Jerry's Cutesy Name for Vanilla Ice Cream with Heath Bar Chunks and having a spoonful or five ever night. WTF? I am also experiencing an intense longing for my old workshop (as seen here in historical footage) and I would give anything to sand some wood. When you work all day in your head, sometimes you just want to get out a hammer and a nail like in that gay song. I would also like a pony and world peace, is that asking too damn much? Actually, what I would really like is for this headache to go away and for a Canadian to come to America with that wolf belt of hers and make me forget Dumb City for awhile. That is asking too much I think.
Other things: I have not had any update on my car. For all I know these shady Maryland car repair places have stripped it down and sold it for parts. My car is at some garage with the actual word Gay in the name so that tells you something right there. On the way home tonight, I saw not one but two wrecks on 95 within a half mile of each other. I tell you, it is deathtrap living here and one day when I don't post here for weeks, you can accurately surmise that it was 'my time to go" as they say. I will be the subject of one of those traffic reports on 103.5 WTOP news, weather and traffic on the 8's. And as I say, if the traffic doesn't kill you, the...
Metro will: I saw Brett Butler on the Orange line tonight. Or her younger, healthier Grace Under Fire version. I think she fell off the wagon? And sorta went to pot lately? Seems I saw a picture of her and was like, that's Brett Butler? Anyway. Rest easy tonight, her twin got off at Metro Center after a long day at Robotech and/or HHS and/or some lobbying firm or whatever.
ps. And speaking of falling off the wagon, my literary hero Miss Vivian Darkbloom has written a very lovely piece that I read today at work while pretending to work and I have to say, if it does not win Yaddo's prize for Best Story About A Beautiful Tortured Alcoholic, I don't know what will. Fingers crossed, sweetie. If/when she ever publicly makes it available, I shall duly link to it for the greater good.
We built on the river...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
5 comments:
If I hear a third reference to Yaddo today, I will have to actually apply for their hooha whathaveyous. That was the second. Obvs/yeah.
I know what you mean about the Talking Heads song. I once used that quote as an anchor for an English paper on which I performed relatively poorly, but felt I made a few good points.
Hope you feel better. Ice cream is loveliness.
You know, everytime I hear the word "deathtrap" I lapse into Springsteen mode: It's a deathtrap! It's a suicide rap! We gotta get out while we're young...cause tramps like us, baby we were born to ruuuuuuuuuuuun. And to this day I can precisely mimic all the noises Bruce makes at the end of that song too.
So as long as you live in the deathtrap, sweetie, you will need--in lieu of Canadians--your ice cream to get you through. Don't worry about it, just run up those escalators when you escape the Metro. You'll be fine.
p.s. I'm glad you liked the piece! Thank you. We'll see what happens, though...
Win: What I wouldn't have given to have been a fly on the way at Yaddo way back in the day. Seriously, tortured writers + booze + drugs + sex + drama + politics = creativity galore! I'd actually love to find a good historical book on the place, must do a little digging to see if such exists. If you make it up that way, you must steal me the seat cushion upon which Patricia Highsmith serviced some nubile young poetess on a long summer afternoon before inspiration struck. Or similar.
viv: Sweetie, you never struck me as a Springsteen fan, but I guess I can see old Skool Bruce speaking to a young Darkbloom stuck in Pennsylvania waiting for Mary to climb in..
ps. Ice cream is a very very poor substitute, I must say. It is not doing the trick whatsoever.
I think you should go with that Canadian with the worlf belt. Your headache would suddenly vanish.
Dumb City...what Dumb City? All that matters is the girl with the wolf belt...that so sweet.
szj: When canadians in wolf belts are not available, one must deal with Dumb City via liquor. Again, poor substitute and you feel like shit the next day. Going to take suggestions from the peanut gallery at this point.
Post a Comment