tballardbrown
OK, today I'm in pursuit of my writing mojo. Time to get back to that creative part of me.
Divorce used to be taboo. And then it wasn't. Now, I am divorced. When my marriage first crumbled, I was depressed and ashamed. Now, I have accepted it, but still, I sometimes feel like I failed at something really important that other people seem to have figured out.
This past week I laid the seeds for what I hope will be the beginning of a new future for me. Now I just need to water and nurture and do whatever else to them that will help them bear fruit.
Trying to stay on top of my web presence via social media is a hassle sometimes, but I feel like it's something I have to do to stay employable.
Alex leaps into the puddle, splashing muddy water all over his coat and my shoes. He looked up at me, tongue hanging out, tail wagging.
"You just hate being clean don't you?" I ask him, then laugh because, why am I talking to a dog?
He shakes all the moisture off his coat and on to my pants, then runs off to sniff a pole for gifts left from previous passersby.
"You better be glad I love you dog!"
He runs over, tries to lick my hand, his whole body bending and twisting from side to side he's wagging so much.
The shutter clicked, capturing the expression on her face.
"Stop it, please," she said, her head slightly tilted and left hand resting on her hip.
"But mom it's for my project at school!"
"Find someone or something else to take photos of for your project." She walked out of the room and he listened as her footsteps faded as she got farther down the hall.
He looked around for something else to photograph.
"C'mere Alex," he called out to the dog, who lifted an ear, but otherwise didn't move.
This was going to be a sucky project.
Sometimes I feel like I'm just drifting through life -- no purpose, no destination, no anchor.
Sigh.
The sun looked like a big egg yolk slapped smack dab into the middle of the sky. Greer pulls on her shades and tries to remember if she had applied the UVA or UVB or UV-whatever fountain of youth salves on her face, lips and neck that would keep her from looking old before her time. Or looking old at all. Ever.
"Damn, it's hot," a guy standing next to her on the Metro platform says in her general direction. Which ticked her off. Don't natter on about very obvious nothings while the big ball of fire in the sky whittles away at her exquisite beauty and consequently her life. Greer puts him on mental mute while she envisions the cracks and creases settling in on her cheeks and forehead. And around her eyes.
The train pulls into the station, throws open its doors with bings and bongs and she waits for its occupants to disembark. They take their time about it. Sigh.
It isn't until she is inside seated and the doors have slammed shut does Greer realize there is no air conditioning.
"Ain't this about a bitch?!" she mumbled as her bare legs immediately stick to the seat.
Her scalp starts to sweat, so along with a face morphing into a piece of beef jerky, her hair would be reverting back to its African-ness in 5, 4, 3, 2 - WHOOSH! At least that's the sound Greer imagines her hair making as it gives up trying to be straight and just rolls up into a tightly coiled knot on her head.
Train platform guy squeezes his ass in next to her and smiles.
"From the frying pan into the fire, right?" he says, ignoring Greer's "get away from me peasant boy" look and attitude.
"Dude, it's too hot for teeheeing and kiki-ing," Greer says. "Move on."
It all hinges on this one decision. But will she do the right thing?
I've got something that I am concealing from people. It's a great secret, but I have to hold it close to my chest right now.
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writing since 2011 · 45 entries · 45 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Tanya showed up.
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nowchanceloveheadsometimesfacelookingyesgreergreatroompulleddogsallyremembermaking