Let’s see. Four beers. Four vodka and Red Bulls (?). And “The Story”. I’m not scared. Let’s see what comes of it:
A sane person would write her thoughts down the old fashioned way. You know. Pen and paper and all. To be tucked away in the bottom left hand drawer.
My heart. Breaks. In to tiny shards, ya know? I look around and say, “WOW. How did that happen”?
“All of the friends that think I’m blessed…”
I’m sitting here. In my dining room. Lights dimmed. Drunk. And I feel the grumblings of what feels like, umm, anger? I am certainly misidentifying it. It’s certainly an uncertain feeling. These people have looked at my house 4+ times. I know what they’re thinking:
“We can have dinner parties in that gorgeous dining room.”
“Or cookouts on that back deck overlooking the New Orleans style courtyard. Crawfish anyone?”
“Why yes, those are granite counter tops.”
“Anyone have a light, for the cigarette I want to enjoy on the front porch?”
Take it won’t you?? Just buy it. Let’s get it over with. Take from me the last of the physical things that represents the person I thought I wanted to be. Just get it over with. Let me start the new chapter. I want out of this purgatory.