January 11, 2010
A paralysis sets in, and she is the force that caused it. The most clawing time she can remember, hands bloodied as they claw against the coarse granite of the slopes around her. She cannot get a handhold, she cannot stop the falling, either.
She fell down a flight of stairs, and she took too many painkillers for the bruising. In that woozy place between pain and intoxication, she decided to try passion. To try spontaneity.
She cannot get a handhold.
January 4, 2010
The winter presses up its face against the window, and even with the thermostat set to 78 degrees, I can’t pretend its not there. Seeping in through the ducts, fissure cracks, and musty screens that should have been replaced years ago.
I wish I could write better. I wish I could be Ellen Gilchrist for a day, writing about dreams and sad old actresses, about people trying to impress one another with how sane they are. I wish I could write.