Rising in Grady was an ungovernable laughter, a joyous agitation which made the white summer stretching before her seem like an unrolling canvas on which she might draw those first rude pure strokes that are free. Then, too, and with a straight face, she was laughing because there was so little they suspected, nothing. The light quivering against the table silver seemed to at once encourage her excitement and to flash a warning signal: careful, dear. But elsewhere something said…
A few months after I got my favourite pen, my Dad packed it and the rest of my life into the car and drove me down to University. As The Dixie Chicks blasted out of the speakers and through the open windows, I was as excited as I’d ever been up to that point in my life. Scared shitless, but excited. Pretty much ever since then, I’ve employed Personal Assistants to help me do any of the stuff that can…
My pen actually ran out of ink today. I’m still writing down thoughts first thought on the island, and sometimes get carried away. Sarge bought me a red Moleskine Daily Planner that I am using as a journal. I need the lined paper. Or else my writing runs away with itself. It does that even on lined paper. And even though I ‘need’ the lines, I still find myself running out of ink on envelopes and bank statements. And envelopes…
These are things I could do without next year. Just for the record. Insomnia/heartburn/bad stress. Who needs that? Even if it does mean blog posts can run through your head at four in the morning. My internal Editor. Shut up, seriously. When in doubt, let it out. Just do it. Write it/say it/send it. And do a little dance when you’re done. Mail that consists only of bills. See Item 1. Anyone want a pen pal? Fear of turning 30. …
I am a natural blonde. No, really. I have proof: It got lighter in the summer and darkened in the winter. By the time I was eight it no longer changed with the seasons, no matter how much lemon juice my Nana squeezed on my head. Maybe that’s why I felt such infinity with fish as a child. My favourite doll was a redheaded kilt-wearing thing of beauty from the ‘International Collection’. I wanted her hair. When…
