THIRST Heres to another night with a pencil in my hand, an open notebook in front of me, and me staring into space, mind completely blank. I should be saying this with a drink in my hand, arm extended, but everyone knows I have given up drinking years ago. I am both impulsive and compulsive, depending on what day you catch me on, depending on whats in front of me. I could never really distinguish the difference. Theres a whole passage about constraints and restraints that I am refusing to write about, I know I will end up erasing it anyway. It is of no consequence. Everything is inconsequential. I say this impulsively and immediately regret it. I would tear this whole page out, but I havent been given a compelling enough reason to do so. Im taking liberties. Not really. Actually, Im writing myself into a box that I will lock, throw into the river, and try to escape from. This is what women like me do. Ill say I want water, but once the river pours into the ocean, I will say that its too salty. That is not a complaint, but merely an observation, it would just be me stating the obvious once again. I would ask you for a better ending, but it would just be me talking to myself once again, and I really dont have anymore answers. I just have a mouthful of questions and a back-pocket full of quills, but all the inkwells are as dry and as parched as I am. I want water. I dont want a splash, I want to be drenched. Actually, I want to drown. I want to be in so deep that I cant tell which way goes to the ocean bed and which way goes to the surface. But you know Ill keep swimming, because I cant distinguish the difference between surrender and survival. Eventually, I will learn how to breathe underwater and I will make a life there. I will build monuments of corals and I will grow some fins. I will go with the flow and I will bow down to the tides. Poseidon will call me Amphitrite, but I will refuse him and swim out to shore. This is what women like me do. Im saying this again for emphasis. Im saying it again, in case you didnt hear me. I dont think you heard me, sweetheart, because all youre doing now is pouring me a cold one. Youre raising your glass to me and you say: Heres to love. Heres to us. Heres to never distinguishing the difference. #ugh #finally #writing #raiseyourglass #ifyouarewrong #inalltherightways #allmyunderdogs
Posted on: Wed, 24 Sep 2014 19:09:22 +0000
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