I decided not to mention this yesterday in the middle of all the wireless excitement but there I was on the couch tip tap typing away and feeling oh so good about where I was and what I was doing and I went back and read what I had written which is something I don't always do and I saw that AN ENTIRE PARAGRAPH had been erased! My little lap top is much more sensitive than the desk top I've been using forever and I must have just touched something very gently and poof, the paragraph was gone. And it was a good one, too. At least I imagined that it was and probably the best thing I had ever written...EVER. And it was all about me driving around on pain pills and pulling out of the driveway and I knew I was either going to have to start all over (ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!) or try and recreate it. And oh my gosh as I've said before (like yesterday) that it's always something (actually Gilda Radner said that and of course I loved her but SHE DIED so I try not think that I am the Gilda who DIDN'T make it.) Anyway, I wrote a bunch of stuff all over again. Actually, first I went into the bathroom and put this oil that's supposed to help with hair regrowth all over my head. I still have some hair though it's much thinner than it used to be and maybe I'm kidding myself and I actually look like the Crypt Keeper with just these pathetic strands shooting out in various places but when I came out of the bathroom I was covered with oil I had to go into the kitchen and try and get it off of my hands or it was going to cover my brand new sweet comuter so I did that and came back to the couch with this oily head and dry hands and wrote something. Because I knew that was the thing I was supposed to do and that's what all this wirelessness was about.
But I try, believe me I try, to not sweat the small stuff as someone said and I don't think it was Gilda but might have been. Although, that's what it's all about really, isn't it? The small stuff. I mean, a baby is big stuff because it's a LIFE for goodness sake and a puppy is big stuff and any animals and then I guess you would say plants and I suppose pencils and here's the thing...
I'm hungry. When I start talking about pencils it means something is not right and at this moment it is because I am hungry that I'm talking about pencils. I did a little too much today because my friend Candace came over and we walked and then went to the market and before you know it, it was after three and I hadn't been plugged in since this morning and that's a long time for me to be without nutrition. But I'm plugged in now as I write this and I'm a bit light headed from no food. Although, maybe it's actually because I have NO HAIR. Honestly, ever since I conjured up that image of the Crypt Keeper, I am realizing that when I look in the mirror, that's who I see. Oh my god, I'm a female Crypt Keeper with no ass and a tube coming out of my abdomen. If only it was closer to Halloween. I always have such a hard time finding a costume and right now I'm all set with no where to go. My timing has always been for shit.
So I'm trying to keep calm. And I'm thinking that not looking in the mirror is a good place to start. I never really liked doing that anyway. Was not a big mirror looker. Who looks good in a mirror? They can try and trick you in some of those upscale stores with their soft pink lighting and I did fall for those tricks as witnessed by some of the clothes in my closet. "Oh, that looks so great on you. Makes you look years younger." And then I'm home and I try it on and I look like Bette Davis on The Dick Cavett Show when SHE had matured into the Crypt Keeper.
I remember I used to be Eloise. Thought I was sort of like Eloise or Pippi Longstocking. And if you check out an Eloise book you can sort of see how she could morph into the Crypt Keeper if she could get older. So actually, if I died at a younger age than people think you are supposed to die, it might not be such a bad thing. John Kennedy will always be young and handsome. Hard to imagine him as an old man. Kurt Cobain. John Lennon.
But you know what? It's fun watching Bob Dylan grow old. It's cool. Nice if Gilda had gotten to be an old funny lady. Nice for her if she had been able to be a mom. So, once again, maybe living is the thing to go for.
I'm not going to read this again. If something sounds like it's missing...It probably is. I'll get the hang of this yet.
Or I'll just go back to using a pencil.............................................