Tagged: beinglizardek

Wasn’t gonna write tonight because my brain is in translation mode and I had to literally tear myself away from my work in progress (almost half done! woo! I rock!) and my scanned PDF source file and the Swedish-English dictionary and the Stora Ordboken and the SAOB and PUT THE KEYBOARD DOWN. I pictured myself whirling about the room in a long white lacy nightgown while the maidservants turned down the bedcovers and hung up my robe, hugging the keyboard to my breast and crooning I could have worked all night, I could have worked all night and can’t decide...

I woke up in time, propelled by the urgency of my bladder and the heightened noise from the brightened living room; they were done with breakfast and ready to go. Pulled in for farewells, their heads are reaching to my breasts, just as they did years ago—it’s the bodies which have elongated and stretched them up to these heights. “Goodbye,” I say, “have fun.” We kiss and they are gone, out to the still dark silence of pre-dawn. The car was loaded last night and I turn on the kitchen light again to wave from the window; otherwise they wouldn’t...

Why do I do that? Why do I mentally turn away, begin to tune out, slam up a wall as soon as someone starts talking about it? I can feel myself doing it and I have to force myself to listen, force myself not to roll my eyes, not to mentally cover the conversation with a loudly silent YEAH YEAH YEAH inside my skull? Do I do it because I’m in denial? Because I’m so sure that I already KNOW everything that is coming, everything that is being said? Because I hate being lectured at even though I know everyone...

I jammed the ring and pointer fingers of my right hand in an ill-advised, mis-timed high five with the boss of my old job who is a current colleague after a funny comment he made while disco dancing at the work party last night. Ow. Typing hurts like a sonofagun. So if I stop using the i o k l , and . keys you’ll know why. 2 years ago or thereabouts I began to feel that my life was spiraling out of control. Every day was busy, with a job that demanded more of me than any other job...

I keep thinking, while things are happening, oh! I want to write about this. I need to remember this, and I very carefully take the thought and tuck it away and, of course, promptly forget it, so that when I actually have a moment to sit down in front of the computer, all I have is a pocket full of tuckery and no substance. I think I need to start writing reminder notes on my hand again. That always worked in the past. I think I used to write better than I do now. I feel like I’ve run out...

I may be rejoining the living, as things were looking distinctly up, if not perky, today, throat-wise. A few days ago I actually thought I was having a panic attack at the office, mostly brought on by being sick and strangly, what with the not being able to swallow thing, but also because my workload has been towering over me and getting higher and higher like a swaying skyscraper of project-child’s-blocks, teetering creakily this way and that, just stopping short of tipping over with a crash and the wild bonking of blocks on skull by the fact that I am...