JoBiv, stop looking at Kathe Kollwitz prints online, put your coat on and go home to your warm apartment, turn on the TV and watch something funny, or something that's supposed to be funny, chuckle if you please, answer the teapot when it whistles, pour the water over teabags and watch them float up like bloated frogs, gaze at your guitar as though you might play it, change into your pineapple pants during a commercial and wrap yourself back into a calm solitude like you wrap your hands around the tea mug. Fold in, where everything is warm, small and quiet.
The H-Bomb is on a plane headed to Florida. She takes her inferior taste in television and her all-night dinner and ice cream eating and her penchant for interrupting and scolding with her. When I go home there will be no one to ask me, "So, how's your work coming?" and so there will be no reason to say, "Slowly, but I think it's coming." There will be no reason to tuck myself into the kitchen so she can't watch me eat and I don't have to listen to her smacking her lips as she eats. That will be good. I won't blush and start guiltily as she catches me pulling the bad hairs out. For three days I will be H-Bomb free. It could be glorious.
4 comments:
I love the pineapple pants!
I've seen those, right?
I love the pineapple pants!
I've seen those, right?
I daresay you have, dear sender of bubble wrap and other goodies! THANK YOU, Sarah, you lovely lovely woman. You made my week! If I used the phone I would call you to say how much I appreciate your care package. Now THAT's love!
Awww.
Sorry that posted twice, earlier.
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