gennaclaire
She walked back in forth in front of the door. Pacing nervously, angrily. Back and forth. Back and forth. No matter who came, no matter who they sent. She would not let them through. This was too important. All she knew above anything else was she could not fail.
There's a science to this. All of this. This life we're drifting through each day. There's a science to it all. To good morning and hellos and coffee and breakfast and lunch breaks and nap time and afternoon snacks and dinner and dessert and bedtime. There's a science to it all... and, of course, an art.
i got a puppy last week. 8 months old. most times, he's perfect. loving and well behaved. but sometimes he needs a crate and harness and a harsh tone and a threat. and i don't have any of those things. just a puppy. one that i love.
So her arms slid through the water. One continuous effortless motion. Once she was beneath it's slippery surface. No one could reach her. No one could touch her. Here she was safe. Wrapped up in a liquid blanket. Gliding the way birds fly through the air.
i remember whiskey. i remember shooting it out of red plastic cups and chasing it with coca cola. and coughing and gagging at the smell of it. and probably puking it up later while regretting a million and one decisions. we were all young once. and whiskey nearly did me in. you grow old. we all grow old. and we thank the things that got us to this point. the bourbon. the whiskey. the boys. the cars. the parents on vacations. the older cousins with a fake i.d. you learn so much when you're so stupid. it's those years where all you do is fail that you grow the most.
Cheap. Cheap. Cheap. The rich people who buy their $6.00 lattes and argue over the 2 cents they didn't get back and why the sales tax has gone up and whether or not you charged them extra for syrup (which costs extra, by the way).
Cheap.
Friday morning. 7:24am. supposed to wake up at 6:00 and go to the gym. or at least 7:00 and shower.
But I settle for a quick shower and can't blow dry my hair. Throw some gel in it and hope it curls.
This the the result. A head full of tangles and no where to go.
It's like fuzzy little fluffy sheep. That stuff that seems so sweet and cottony when you're little.
Then all of the sudden your a 24 year old at a petting zoo and sheep are fat, filthy, dull creatures.
With pine straw and dirt clinging to all that wool.
How things change.