Thursday, July 19, 2007
I cook. I sing. I lactate. I raise a girl. I am vain. I am a virgo, and I fight it. I am thin, and I hate it when you point it out. I am left-handed. I love "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." I read all the cartoons and then the movie review in The New Yorker before I read any other articles. I listen to "A Prairie Home Companion" every week and am not ashamed, but I prefer "The Writer's Almanac." I don't have a TV (anymore). I am self-righteous. I am self-deprecating. I will go out of my way to avoid a conflict, but I scream at people in my dreams. I drink dark beer, but only in small amounts because I lactate. I am almost 35. I type the right way. I'm always thinking about what to say and that often keeps me quiet. I look forward to weekends even though I'm unemployed. I am deeply lazy. I struggle with housecleaning. I hate IKEA, but forget that I do every few months and go back. I am getting more and more impatient with everything. I wonder if people who move to other cities bag on those cities to natives the way people do when they move to L.A. I am a hypocrite. I can crochet, but I wish I could knit. I am a night person married to a morning person. I forget to floss. I am tired. I am scared. I think everything will be OK. I gave away my red suede rollerskates. I fell on my bike. I was a dancer. I was a writer. I was a car chick. I miss some people, but not enough to call them. I say "we" too much. I get lucky sometimes. I'm trying too hard. I forget why I started.