NaBloPoMo is tricky when everything is going well and you haven’t really left the house in a few days.
Do you care that a constellation has formed on my neck?
Do you care that a group of people on Facebook really angered me, and I did absolutely nothing about it?
Do you care that I found my journal from 2000? Do you want me to share some lines with you?
Wait. You do?! Well, okay then!
These are not in any type of order, and I refuse to provide context. Here goes.
It’s the equivalent to grabbing a burger with Jesus.
I’m not ready to wipe my rear with a stranger’s discarded Kleenex.
Jeff is moving to Nashville in a little over a week, and I need to remember how important communication is to a healthy gastrointestinal tract.
The drinking of Chardonnay reveals a lack of imagination.
My words are being twisted and molded like a soggy kneecap or a scrambled egg sitting on top of a pancake sausage sandwich.
I am swamped and bewildered.
Parker Posey doesn’t recognize the past tense.
When we got to the house, we found sixteen strangers writing messages to one another on the walls. After reading random messages for nearly an hour, I found a line that someone had written to me about my four kidney infections and how they corresponded with my four failed relationships and how I should look into purchasing a rototiller to prepare my dirt for seed. I left the house feeling confused and immediately headed to 7-11 where I purchased a family-sized bag of Funyons and some chocolate milk. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Is ‘prepar[ing] my dirt for seed’ a euphemism? If not, it really should be.
Also, let’s hope that constellation on your neck isn’t CANCER. Ha! Get it?!?!
Wait…I’m sure it’s not cancer…stop crying.
I had to “de-friend” two people on Facebook for HORRENDOUS comments related to the White House. I am embarrassed I was their friend to begin with now.
You wrote a lot about food in your journal in 2000.
Your last paragraph disturbs me – where is this house that one goes to for wall writing? Does someone have to clean it or have they invented etch-a-sketch walls and I don’t know about them but want one.
My words are being twisted and molded like a soggy kneecap or a scrambled egg sitting on top of a pancake sausage sandwich.
I want to steal this.
I want the dirt on facebook. Last time a group of people was nasty to you (I still think about the Open Letter and the response to it) it was a formative learning experience for me as a parent (I had little idea that there were actually people out there who would refer to me or any woman as a “breeding cow”), and it made me a reader forever . .. lay it on us – we can take it!
Lulu–It was all in a dream. And I believe the dream occurred shortly after I watched Less Than Zero. AND, Etch-A-Sketch walls? Yeah. You need to trademark that idea!
Kathy–It’s yours for the taking! Until I SUE YOU!!! HA HA HA HA HA! Um, yeah. Really. It’s yours for the taking.
Elsimom–I just shot an e-mail your way!
The end of this post was the best bit of Dada i have read in a long time. Which reminds me that I wanted to comment on the housekeeping post that my ceiling fans are like surrealist installations – they are so think with dust they look like they are covered with fur. That is all.
Funyons! Do they even still make those? 200o wasn’t that long ago, but they already seem like some sort of 70’s comfort food. Perfect snack for a gal with dustless baseboards!