Stress gives me heartburn. Gulp-Gaviscon-and-belch heartburn. I have decided I shouldn’t eat crisps and dip for dinner or look for a job after 8.00pm. I got another rejection yesterday. I then asked my PA to polish my nails purple to cheer myself up. It didn’t work. Sarge came home for lunch and made me life-sucking -zombie coffee. That worked. I still cried, though. And got unspeakably angry at grammatical errors on national websites. I flapped around a bit saying, ‘People…
This is what it sounds like to me: 1. The laughter of people I love, especially when I make it happen. 2. Popcorn popping. 3. The noises the coffee machine makes while doing its thing. I happen to think it sounds exactly like a zombie dying. Not that I’d know exactly what that sounds like. 4. My new favourite song. Or old favourite songs. But my new favourite song is pretty cool. It’s this one. 5. Instances of friendly sarcasm,…
I used to be obsessed with my dreams. I was the one who bought the books and looked up the themes and symbols. I asked questions right before I went to bed hoping I’d find answers in dreams. I wrote single words and even lists in the morning and weeks later had no idea what I was on about. That state of confusion isn’t limited to dreams. I don’t remember my dreams anymore. Perhaps because a major one came true,…
I talk to my mother on the phone once a week. She always starts the conversation/answering machine message with: Hi, it’s Mom. Like I wouldn’t know it was her. I’d swear even the ring sounds different when she’s on the other end of the line. My mother really does have the strongest Long Island accent you could imagine. Actually, think of one and then multiply it by ten. You might then have idea what my mother sounds like. And for…
