Cookies and cream cupcake sitting in the pit of my stomach with residue on the top of my mouth. Conversation, one sided and uninvolved. Dirty Dishes in the sink after hands soaps and sudsy from the now clean dishes. Tired eyes. Day gone. Nothing Accomplished.
No words. Just thirsty. My roommates are leaving and making plans. I have no plans. I am tired of planning. I want to throw all planners into a fire. I want to throw all calendars into the Scattergood Waste Facility. I want to drowned out all sound all conversations with music in my ears but I dont have an extra plug, the batteries have run out and the cd sits lonely in the discman unmoving. Yesterday I screamed into my pillow. I think that is why I am thirsty today. My neck is sore. I am trying to savor my lunch time. My one forty five minute period of happiness. I felt like going outside. Surprisingly warm though it looked rather gray out (i think it was just smog hanging about the windows). I walk armed with my lunch to the park and there is a band with lovely lovely salsa/spanish guitar music. I sat in the breeze with the sunshine, feeling like this, this is why i got dressed today. This is why i put on eyeliner. This is why i got out of bed. Sadly there was a clock in the park and i could see that it was time to go back to work. I threw the mango skins away. I pulled myself off the grass, slipped my feet back in the shoes and walked trying to snatch some of the fast guitar strings plucked notes between my teeth. I pretended my walking was dancing. I pretended my job was enjoyable. I pretended to not be afraid. I pretended not to notice the construction workers as I weaved my hand through the air to the music i could no longer hear.
Cease. Cease. Receipts belong with dayplanners. And the car parked out on the street that is long as a boat, brown as a dirty shoe, with tiny silver naked ladies on the grill that parks for days at time and takes up two spaces because it did not have the courtesy to pull up a couple of feet.
There is no place like the laundromat to make you appreciate your life.
Things to be thankful for:
1. I only have to do laundry for myself (not my kids, nor my husband)
2. I only have to entertain myself at the laundrymat (not my kids, nor my husband)
3. I only have myself to blame for all the dirty clothes (not my kids nor my husband).
True love is doing someone laundry free of bitterness. I wonder if that is even possible. The mothers at the laundrymat were so tired they did not even raise their eyes when their kids, shouted "momma".
2 comments:
pulled myself off the grass, slipped my feet back in the shoes and walked trying to snatch some of the fast guitar strings plucked notes between my teeth. I pretended my walking was dancing.
Those lines are ridiculous. It's funny, Louis Chude-Sokei once said that a perfectly content and happy person makes a horrible writer. I think his words were "I don't care if it's sexually, physically, or mentally, frustration breeds art. If you can get laid everyday, you're probably gonna suck at writing." your blog title (and not your blog itself) just reminded me of that =)
As always, keep writing. Maybe I should start.
You should write.
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