You ever have one of those days? You talk too much and wish you could take most of it back. You mistakenly throw somebody you like under the bus. Your inner bully comes out, pushing your inner
sweetie-pie so far deep inside that you forget what she even looks like. Your efforts to make amends are clumsy and bloated, like a walrus on the beach. On top of it, your hair looks terrible and you probably should have ironed your shirt before leaving the house. There's a bit of almond stuck in your teeth, possibly there since 11 this morning. Your perceived age is catching up with your real age, and suddenly you're putting the pepper mill in the freezer like you saw in that Alzheimer's movie, thinking "Ok, here we go."
sweetie-pie so far deep inside that you forget what she even looks like. Your efforts to make amends are clumsy and bloated, like a walrus on the beach. On top of it, your hair looks terrible and you probably should have ironed your shirt before leaving the house. There's a bit of almond stuck in your teeth, possibly there since 11 this morning. Your perceived age is catching up with your real age, and suddenly you're putting the pepper mill in the freezer like you saw in that Alzheimer's movie, thinking "Ok, here we go."
On days like this, the neighborhood doesn't offer comfort or insult. I hear kids out the window playing in the yard next door. It's mid-September, but still warm enough to run around without a jacket. The kids' mother, someone I cherish, has lit a bonfire because they were too late buying tickets for an organized campfire at a north-side park. Most days, this would fill me with such a sense of wonder I'd call myself the luckiest girl in the world. Tonight I can't feel a thing.
Later on I'll ride my bike to a nearby bar, where John's band is playing the headliner slot. I'll wager that if I see a rash of new gang tags along the way, I won't be dialing 311. If there's a drug deal in the alley, you're on your own, good people. I'm off the clock. Sometimes a girl just needs a breather, from herself and everything else.
I'm breathing, and tomorrow is another day.
3 comments:
I hear you, girl. Sometimes I need such a vacation, I get so sick of myself, I even wish I could move into someone's else's body & thought processes.
I've recently had to take a temporary vow of community disinterest. I was getting pulled under, and that's not good for anyone. You deserve a break to just live your own life. Happy Saturday, sweetie.
Leslie, you -- as usual -- are a gem. I just got back from a jog where I fell on the concrete for no apparent reason. I jogged home with a bloody knee and bruised ego. But then I realized, if Leslie and I could ever figure out that cocktail plan, we'd laugh and laugh over days like this. It made the dressing go on a little easier.
The silver lining: a crappy day when you're fed up with you produces some really poignant, artful writing.
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