Upon my arrival to the stoop I call home I was full of ideas. Brilliant ideas. I could be the next person to win "You are Full of Brilliant Ideas" on ABC. Oh wait, that's not a show. Well it sounds like something stupid that would be on ABC or Fox. But as I was saying. Unplug me from the world for a week and my brain is on overdrive. Almost overkill. So many good ideas. And now that I've plugged back into the world, checked my email, ESPN.com and other favorite daily sites my ideas .... down the shitter. Or into there usual abyss.
And it's frusterating. I think, besides losing the ability to communicate, ALZHEIMERS, would be a serious form of torture/slow death for myself. Really, if I'm freakin out over some tangents that I thought of, can you image my horror when I won't recognize my would-be-someday-children? Jesus, if that's not depressing.
Here's another killer. I switch between apple laptop and PC. Excessive, I know. but I'm really good with the keyboard control keys, instead of just clicking on the icon. And now, since I've been unplugged with the world for a week, I can't recall how to un-italize. Sick. But also fairly amusing.
Thought I'd share that with you kiddies.
I'm thinking of writing a book. Well a collection of short stories. And if I dream about not becoming successul, that maybe success will fall into my lap, just like the birds that seem to always nail my driver's side window. Bastards. I really do think it is like that Farside with birds. That we people to them are just moving bullseyes to shit on.
Back to my book. Well the idea of writing something that could be published by an orignial printer and not just in cyberland. My vanity totally plays in with the idea of writing a book. Because I want to be almost famous. Not Kate Hudson, bandaids, and all that stuff. I want to be semi-famous, kinda like Dan Wilson from Semisonic, but without the glasses.
And if I ever decide to reveal myself you can guarantee I will share a story about one of those sentences in the mentioned above paragraph, but until then ... I carry on.
Here's my ego when it comes to Almost Famous, my version of it anyways, not Cameron Crowe's. I want to publish something and have it received like how City Pages adores Diablo Cody. So then when my proex photo is elegantely displaced on the jacket sleeve, (you gotta follow that rule. who's too cool to put their face on the inside sleeve of their book? not this girl. i whole heartedly object to face on covers of books, not a fan of that move, but the sleeve, all for it.) so my mug tactfully displaced on the inside cover. and then i will be grocery shoppin on some saturday morning when some woman says to me
"excuse me miss. i don't mean to be rude, but are you so-and-so who wrote -whatchamacallit"
And I will beam from ear to ear. Why? Because that's my vanity and ego rolled into one.
Which makes me think of beauty. I don't know why at the moment. I know I am not beautiful. Cute, check. Sometimes pretty, when the moment fancies. But beautiful, never have been. And over the weekend it occurred to me why I am not considered beauty on the outside. It has nothing to do with self-confidence or I wasn't loved as a child bullshit, it's because I have flaws.
And I think my flaws are strung together with good intentions and sarcasm. I embrace my flaws, even the premature stretch marks I can see coming. Because the imperfections I think are the best part of me and they are my favorite things when you share your life with other people. Sure mom can be wonderful, but her cooking is awful. And you can insert a different loved one into the equation and then switch the adjectives around. Aaaahhh, imperfections. They are great. And I embrace them. That is until I discovered crows feet.