he gave me a free bottled water
dana is still semi hungover from too much beer.
draft beer makes her ill, generally.
she's not happy, but she remembers being happy last night for a little bit.
it went bad, somewhere in there.. but not for long. it wasnt anything that she couldnt brush off, forget, repress.
coaching six year olds this morning was trying. they were all, 'dana dana, where are we going now? what will we do? can we race? can i go in? i wanna go in. PUT ME IN!'
and she was all, 'uh huh, uh huh.. just hang in there. hang in there for a couple minutes.'
shes not sure if she was talking to the little ones or herself.
and the circles under her eyes and the pasty pallor should have cued off the world, but they didnt pick up what she was putting down.
so she just real quietly and calmly walked to the public restroom. she turned on the faucet and she scrunched down into fetal position, coming up only for air and heaves.
she felt better then.
sometimes, she's thinking, she wishes that she could have a personal servant. and that that person would bathe her and clothe her and brush her teeth for her.
she knows she should write more, you know.. she knows that the more she delays it, the faster the inspiration will slip. she doesnt want to though. she feels like its forced. and while the writing process is easing, there is no release in the hard thoughts that are seemingly pressed into the pages.
she throws up her hands in surrender.
shell do whatever you want, as long as youll make her laugh.
she loves laughter. real laughter. booming joy that comes from the inner chest.
oh mary, does she hate being fake sometimes.
its true she get bored very easily, remember.
draft beer makes her ill, generally.
she's not happy, but she remembers being happy last night for a little bit.
it went bad, somewhere in there.. but not for long. it wasnt anything that she couldnt brush off, forget, repress.
coaching six year olds this morning was trying. they were all, 'dana dana, where are we going now? what will we do? can we race? can i go in? i wanna go in. PUT ME IN!'
and she was all, 'uh huh, uh huh.. just hang in there. hang in there for a couple minutes.'
shes not sure if she was talking to the little ones or herself.
and the circles under her eyes and the pasty pallor should have cued off the world, but they didnt pick up what she was putting down.
so she just real quietly and calmly walked to the public restroom. she turned on the faucet and she scrunched down into fetal position, coming up only for air and heaves.
she felt better then.
sometimes, she's thinking, she wishes that she could have a personal servant. and that that person would bathe her and clothe her and brush her teeth for her.
she knows she should write more, you know.. she knows that the more she delays it, the faster the inspiration will slip. she doesnt want to though. she feels like its forced. and while the writing process is easing, there is no release in the hard thoughts that are seemingly pressed into the pages.
she throws up her hands in surrender.
shell do whatever you want, as long as youll make her laugh.
she loves laughter. real laughter. booming joy that comes from the inner chest.
oh mary, does she hate being fake sometimes.
its true she get bored very easily, remember.