Thursday, November 01, 2007

Day of the Dead

Every day
some die
some are born

every breath
we are there
or we are not

the miracle
why are we so dumb
that sometimes
only death
wake us up?

started National November Writing Month

last night:
didn't think i could do it
this morning:
thought the same
and then
three pages
and a bit more
testing ideas
and whatnot
and got some clarity:

did 3000 words today,
starts like this:

“Hello, yourself.”
“I need help.”
“How would that help look, Elaine?”
“My husband would be nicer?”
“That’s a question or a statement?” asks Karen. Karen’s “office,” the back porch of her house, in nice weather. It was fall, one of those warm Indian summer days in Northern California with the clear skies, and balmy sun that reminded you of spring.
“I want to have a happier marriage. Ronnie doesn’t treat me very well. He’s always gone. And when he’s home he ignores me, or is cranky with me, or critical.”
Karen wonders: an affair, or is he just a dick. Speaking of which, her mate, Phil was….Stop, Karen, you are being paid to pay attention, not to meander.
“Tell me about the cranky part.”
“I don’t like him when he’s cranky. I want to cry. Or scream.”
“Do you ever scream?”
“All the time. I’m a bitch around him, Karen. That’s what I call you, isn’t it?” Karen nods. “He brings out the worst in me. Honestly, I can see why he never comes home, because as soon as he does I start in on him.”
“So he’s not the only cranky one?”
Elaine laughs. Mid-thirties. More dressed up than usual. Who was she trying to impress? This therapist? Herself? Show herself that she was still an attractive woman even though Ronnie didn’t seem to think so. Why is she wasting her time talking about Ronnie. Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie, the asshole, all she ever does is think about how mad he makes her, and here she is talking about him. But maybe that’s what therapy is all about. what is therapy all about? Feeling better. She wants to feel better.
“I want to feel better.”
Karen nods. Wouldn’t we all, she thinks.

want more
buy the book
when it's done


Labels: , , , , ,


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home