herstorywriter
Mom decorated my room in pink and white when I was little. I loved it, of course, being a little girl. Then I hit high school and everything switched to black and brown. I decorated like a bruise. Now I'm in grad school, and we're back to pink and blue. The circle is now complete.
The plane had flown miles and miles to get me here, but it was worth it. I would walk here if I absolutely had to. But it didn't matter. I was away from that place, away from the sadness, and here in my happiness. I was miles away.
My cat is always near me. Right now she's coiled up in a ball, her back to the TV. Last hour she watched one of my favorite shows with me. I don't know whether it's because she likes the show, if she understands it, or if it's just because she wants to be with me.
She poured half & half into her coffee and stirred the white cloud into the blackness. Slowly the drink turned into a light, creamy shade of brown. The same brown of his eyes. You know what also has that same brown? Bullshit. That's the color of his eyes.
It was a sudden burst of reality, but it came to her. She had to not choose one or the other, this or that, but it was her job to combine those things that made her "her", that made her unique. That was the trick. Still, dejectedly, it felt like there were countless forces out there to stop her.
The gift of life, what a waste! I asked for a PS3 and all I get told was to be grateful I'm alive. How can I feel alive without those sweet graphics on my TV? I'm behind the technological curve...so far behind that the road looks straight. I'd trade in my crappy life for a Blu-Ray player.
He tried to keep me on a short leash, but it failed. What he didn't realize, perhaps what he didn't want to recognize, was how long I've been on my own. To be reigned into a relationship after so many years of being alone is not what I have in mind. It's the peace of being alone that sustains me.
I should really scoop my cat's litter from the box. Well, at least before she continues to track it through my bathroom. Because there isn't much glamour to be gained from stepping out of the shower and stepping in scattered granules of cat litter.
To generate an idea is to give birth to a new beginning. It's one of the few things both men and women can give life to. Ideas can be good, and they can be bad. Everything works in principle. Ideas seemingly are utopian solutions to the world's worst problems. If only every idea worked.
Stephen Colbert hates bears; he says they're godless killing machines and the number one threat to America. I beg to differ. I say America's biggest threat is cats with the case of the crazies. It's true! Try and walk through a doorway when one is spazzing out, like mine's been doing. It's impossible!
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