So tired. Doing what I need to do today seems daunting, almost impossible. It’s hot, tropical feeling, outside and the world is brilliant green and alive with the sounds of insects and small animals. I long for the water’s embrace, a man-made womb, and my dreams of you.
2 weeks ago
conflictedintrovert said: My longest running conversation here on tumblr, even if they've seen fit to unfollow us from one another over the course of it. When you get this, post 5 random facts about yourself and then send this to 10 of your favorite followers.
Our correspondence is your longest-running on Tumblr?! I’m very flattered. I do so enjoy out tete-a-tetes. Not to worry, I am still answering your question about what motivates my blog but it’s an involved one…so, until then, here are 5 random facts about me:
1. I once told the wife of a high-ranking government official who was seated at my table for a party that I was “a rental for the evening” because she annoyed me and I knew she’d be scandalized. My date thought this was comical even though he wasn’t, of course, paying for the pleasure of my company and her husband was his business contact.
2. I can curse in several dead languages.
3. I know how to grind my own pigments and work in egg-tempera paint.
4. I worked an event with a group of former Mossad agents who thought it was hilarious that I looked more intimidating in my designer column dress, 4” heels, and radio ear-piece than they did in their tuxedos. They were trained to look innocuous and had a strange sense of humor.
5. The first celebrity I remember meeting is Cher. She was wearing thigh-high snake skin boots and she let me touch them. I was three.
Yours in writing,
3 weeks ago - read more...
I drove home with the dawn, the rising sun in my eyes, last night’s dress stiff against the leather seats. Halfway through the party you’d gotten a call and left to go somewhere, to meet someone. I’d stayed, maybe to prove a point.
I didn’t know if you’d be home. Now you talked to me or didn’t according to a logic only you knew. Maybe it was because I’d asked the wrong question or sent you a text with a photo of a bridge when you were in the mood for a horse. Once it had seemed so important to understand. With each repetition of the cycle I forced myself to care a little less.
I popped the cork from the bottle and felt a dull ache where I figured my heart must still be, buried under years of scar-tissue. I jumped up on the counter, sipped my first glass of the long night, gazed out over the yard.
The house felt empty but you’d become like a ghost so it was hard to tell.
4 weeks ago