I composed in my head a lovely blog post, and the start of a story.
Fuck if I can remember 'em though.
I just need to give in, and go live alone and be that crazy artist chick that everyone's a little afraid of.
It would be so much easier.
Then I could sit bolt upright and dash for my laptop in the middle of the night without my husband acting all suspicious and/or interupting my train of thought with his (perfectly reasonable) stupid questions!!
So, instead, I lie awake and spin tales which are lost forever.
As we've learned, through trial and error (but mostly error), my thoughts have a short shelf-life.
If I try to write somethnig down which sounded brilliant in my head only moments before,
I usually end up with Grade A turkey poo.
Or Grade F mouse poo...
Anyway, you get the point.
Today I am off to lunch and a movie with some good girl friends.
There is too much drama in their lives;
I feel sad for this and hope it abates soon.
I am wearing new shoes,
and may have actually uttered the phrase, "I think these shoes make me look fat."
I belong in the Whiney Women Hall of Fame, don't I?
But I'm wearing them anyway.
If you can't be fat and be ok with LOOKING fat, then--
Yeah, that's what I thought.
I hate that part.
nah, I look pretty good.
But I have very small feet and I'm used to wearing very big shoes.
It's all about symmetry and balance--
small feet make big parts look bigger, right?
I'm going to have a fun day.
I hope you do, too.