Yesterday I flailed - flailed through class and work, flailed over to the computer lab with Ben, two cigarettes, flailed through my re-write, then more flailing on the Felicita's patio, two pitchers of beer, flailing over to L's house with Caroline to play a mystical game of Scrabble - we made up words and then wrote a story with them - flailed to the liquor store for the second time in two hours and I'd LOST MY WALLET - flailed around looking for it - wound up in neon-hell Safeway stumbling around and the WALLET was discovered at the customer service counter - VISA card still there - flailed back home to read Amy Tan and wonder why I wasn't back at Felicita's, as I'd promised The Gang I'd be over there by 10. Flail.
Matt had a conversation with our landlords' children and I descended into an existential wasteland, accusing Matt of leaving me when his paternal instinct hits at age 35 - "You're going to LEAVE me and get MARRIED to some tart just so you can have her fucking BABIES," I screamed - but now I'm drinking coffee and it's FRIDAY yet I am NOT AT WORK! Brunch at Floyd's with Ryan and Aya, exotic travellers from Japan, in a little bit. Then I'm going to buy TEXTURED ENVELOPES, because I want to run my hands along the seams and write people's addresses on them.
Posted by joy at March 25, 2005 10:25 AMHa! You make it sound like Matt has the womb. I've seen the X-Rays; this is not so.
Call you later about doing something tonight with the boys and my female progenitor.
Posted by: ben at March 25, 2005 10:30 AMMint. I want to get into fascinating conversations with your ma.
Posted by: Joy at March 25, 2005 10:34 AMyes, I do tend to instigate flailing on a regular basis. I just don't know what it is about me. Something to do with an ability, or inability to point.
BAD BUTTERFLIES.
very much inside.