Wednesday, December 07, 2005
mushy
my husband says he likes my post from this morning, except for the last paragraph, which is mushy.
i know it's mushy. i knew it as i wrote it. i knew it would turn people off - like my brother-in-law. i am sure he read it and thought, "oh, jesus." but it's how i feel. i am mushy. i am sentimental. i am emotional. i am also intellectual, critical, analytical, etc. (dare i say - i contain multitudes....)
i am sitting in busboys and poets. it is so loud that when i stop and focus to see if i can hear snippets of conversation above the din - i can't. there are pale branches suspended from the ceiling with invisible wire, adorned with crystal and glass ornaments that sparkle - a ballerina, teardrops, a dove, a Christmas tree. a man is cackling. there is some sort of jolly music underneath all the chatter, like a carousel. the waitress is african american, skinny with big hair and huge silver earrings shaped like peace signs. the man next to me wears thick coke bottle glasses - he's balding, with a ponytail, and he's wearing a turquoise sweatshirt with a scooby doo logo and little pictures of scooby. he has a book called "approaches to media - a reader."
the girls across from me are all wearing pink, except for one, who is in all black.
i will finish my guinness and we will go home. i could linger but my husband is tired - a role reversal. there goes that waitress again - in addition to the peace earrings, she's wearing big turquoise beads tied in a knot. a man nearby bellows, "where are you!" and then, "shhh." he has a pointy goatee and a pointy black winter's cap. he is with 3 other people and 3 of them are on their cell phones.
the waitress is also wearing an orange bra, and the strap shows when her black sweater slides off her shoulder.
goodnight.
i know it's mushy. i knew it as i wrote it. i knew it would turn people off - like my brother-in-law. i am sure he read it and thought, "oh, jesus." but it's how i feel. i am mushy. i am sentimental. i am emotional. i am also intellectual, critical, analytical, etc. (dare i say - i contain multitudes....)
i am sitting in busboys and poets. it is so loud that when i stop and focus to see if i can hear snippets of conversation above the din - i can't. there are pale branches suspended from the ceiling with invisible wire, adorned with crystal and glass ornaments that sparkle - a ballerina, teardrops, a dove, a Christmas tree. a man is cackling. there is some sort of jolly music underneath all the chatter, like a carousel. the waitress is african american, skinny with big hair and huge silver earrings shaped like peace signs. the man next to me wears thick coke bottle glasses - he's balding, with a ponytail, and he's wearing a turquoise sweatshirt with a scooby doo logo and little pictures of scooby. he has a book called "approaches to media - a reader."
the girls across from me are all wearing pink, except for one, who is in all black.
i will finish my guinness and we will go home. i could linger but my husband is tired - a role reversal. there goes that waitress again - in addition to the peace earrings, she's wearing big turquoise beads tied in a knot. a man nearby bellows, "where are you!" and then, "shhh." he has a pointy goatee and a pointy black winter's cap. he is with 3 other people and 3 of them are on their cell phones.
the waitress is also wearing an orange bra, and the strap shows when her black sweater slides off her shoulder.
goodnight.
