I would like to be the recipient of the following sometime this week:
- A freshly made, still warm beignet
- Oral sex
One after the other.
Going to go sit in the sun with an iced coffee at my side, and work on a poem.
and as Cary said, work, work, work, get thee outside. I’m hanging laundry on the line, and continuing with the raspberry cane cluster flock, and touching up my roots with henna and indigo, and dealing with other hair situations, and putting laundry away, and pulling some dead plants out of the veggie garden, and cleaning the freezer, and cleaning out another kitchen cabinet, and generally trying to stay as busy as possible, all while singing my songs for the musical, and attempting to not hash my failed marriage in my head. That part’s the hardest. I can’t fathom this, but it’s happened, and is happening, and so I must find a way to live my life within this awfulness. Maybe someday my life won’t taste so sour and bitter on my tongue.
Feeling helpless and hopeless and frozen. I could sit here and stare at the pale blue wall all day, just track the sun by my shadow projected, let the hours drain away. I don’t want to feel like this any more.