Interesting
On the cover of a magazine: “100 back-to-school decorating tips for your home or restaurant.”
Oh, goody! And I was just wondering what I was going to do to update the looks in all those restaurants I have hanging around, now that it’s fall and all! Weren’t you?
Snort.
Seriously: I had no idea that the home- and restaurant- decorating markets overlapped to such an extent, much less that there was such a thing as “back to school” decor (unless you count the dross of platic wrappings and size tags that get torn off school supplies and left on the floor).
I have nothing to say.
Just thought I’d let you know.
The end of the summer, she is here
There’s s… s… ssss… a four-letter word on the mountains today. Rhymes with “termination dust.” Well, not rhymes, exactly, but it could be a synonym.
Either way, I’m unamused.
Editing blues
Because one day I may need to buy on credit
and he is restacking fudge in mini pyramids
while staring out the window, I introduce myself.
***
If there are watchful gods, let them read
the smoke that rises from my house,
the ash that settles on the hearth.
***
You say someone left the hoses on at work.
Flooded everything. All morning
we slid across the floor we thought we knew.
***
Fish, like teenage girls, lust in packs.
Some days they swoon for pixie spoons;
others, it’s salted roe, tangy on the lips.
***
They’re giving me gills, darling: just watch
how I can gulp water. They showed me the hooks
on your lines, they showed me the currents
that sweep back to sea, out of this breakwater.
I’m going, darling, I’m already gone—but you
best remember: you taught me to love the taste
of flesh.
***
Your death will wrap around my name like thread
on a spindle. I’m tangled in your blood.
***
Meh. Ok, that last one’s a bit overdramatic. Or the last two. Or all of them. However it pleases you. You would think there would be something in the poems these fragments come from that I could edit and make readable, but nooooo. Instead, I sit here like a petulant child slamming her fist on the table and spurgling** “I no wanna! I no wanna!” for hours on end in the expectation that someone will eventually get tired of my ranting and find something more interesting for me to do.
Sigh.
Only I’m all growed up now and the only one who can find something more interesting for me to do is… me. Blah.
It must be Saturday. I’ve always hated Saturdays.
_____
**Spurgling: Somewhere between spitting and gurgling, but without the cuteness that you might associate with gurgling. Think of the sort of gurgling you do when you start choking on the froth of your own outrage. Got it? Now add some spit. That’s spurgling.
The Theory of Seldom-Viewed Sitcoms
The less one watches a particular sitcom, the more likely it is one will see the exact same episode every single time.
This explains why the only Sex and the City episode I’ve seen is the one where what’s-her-name’s back seizes up and she is stuck on the bathroom floor until one of the other what’s-her-names sends her boyfriend around to rescue the stuck what’s-her-name. I have seen this episode about seven times, but there’s nothing in it compelling enough to make me memorize the characters’ names. Clearly. Why do people like this show, again?