Sunday night I was flying high solo and starting writing down my thoughts. I was interrupted by a phone call so that’s why the last piece is unfinished…
Why does a botox commercial have a sing-song-y “express yourself!” theme?
Conversation with The Voice:
Me: Wait your writing a book? What’s it about?
The Voice: It’s semi-autobographical, semi-fiction…I haven’t got down on paper yet–
Me: Oh, well in that case I’ve written 20 books and like 5 screenplays!
The Voice: Smart ass.
I Heart Master Piece Theater
It feels like fall. It’s cold and windy and damp. I’m on the couch with my zippered hoodie resting on my head. I have a (now luke warm) cup a tea beside me. The apartment in clean with flowers all around. Flowers really warm up a place. I made a resolution to spend $5 a week buying myself flowers. I know $5 isn’t much…I’d maybe stretch to $7 if I saw a beautiful boquet of tulips. Farmers market season is approaching, even though it feels more like butternut squash and pear season. I look forward to fresh cut sunflowers and crap–I’m blanking on the name–they’re long–gladiolas?
Sometimes I wish I lived in simplier times–like England in the 18th or 19th century where empire waist dresses were all the rage and family and friends retired to the parlor after dinner and read aloud or some guest entertained on the piano. A fire would be glowing and the women would be staring into the fire thinking about love. The man she met earlier in the day while picking berries when their eyes met just as she dropped her basket and he ran over to help her. The simplicity of how they knew it was meant to be with just that one look.