While mopping and swiping and cleaning windows, while hauling four loads of laundry, while hand-washing sweaters, and debating Halloween costumes with Short Drunks (I insist on home-made; they want otherwise), and while defrosting a pork roast that I will not want to eat, ever ever ever: I imagined the death of a girl.
It's easier to pretend when you can.
While mopping and sucking up the dust, a girl like me gets thinky. As in: Polite Fictions thinky, and she remembers what is limitless and blameless, and..
writing some truth? Here? Like we do? That's hard. That's work.
Take a sweet vacation from reality here.
*****
PS: This awesome VodkaMom teacher? She's got it going on. And shoot: click that link and you might win...
6commentsBrilliant Person Wrote...
I want to go there with you.
Yeah, writing truth is hard. Which is why I stick to stories about roadkill and garden vegetables and leave the hard stuff to the real writers.
P.S. WHY would you never want to eat a pork roast? WHYYYY?
That's some stone cold pimpin' right there.
Forgive me Ms Picket for I have sinned. It's been a long time since my last Polite Fictions visit. I will remedy the situation immediately.
Amen.
That is some polite fiction there. You do thinky right.
Psst, hey my old friend Ms Picket, I'm way late on reading your posts but fear not! I just made an iced frappe, am skipping class and laying in bed to catch up on YOU!
(You know why I have to give you all this extra attention? .... because my google reader (rather, your blog settings) don't post your entire entries into the reader. And for serious, it's way too much effort these days for me to come over here and visit your page. (Especially when I can catch up on all our old friends on my iPhone/google reader).
But today ... enough was enough. I'm here
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