She sits up in her bed and sings in a weakened voice “Don’t cry for me Argentina…(cough cough) stretch arms outward clutching used tissue “the truth is I never left you..” (dramatic fall back onto pillows) all of my wild days, my inhibitions…(achoo) you keep your promise, (swallow and moan) I’ll keep my distance…the nasally lullaby of a single sickly woman,in bed, with a cold and ridiculous imagination.
Welcome to Lifestyles of the dramatically ill and overly creative.
No blog update this week. This week there is only sleep.
Don’t fear my friends. I invite you to connect to some of my favorite pieces and let me know what you felt. Good, bad, or indifferent. It will help me become a better writer, a stronger observer, a masterful storyteller. Go forth now and read then comment, comment, comment.
Go now, (she waves tissue in a dainty near death fashion) achoo! You must go (she speaks in an inexplicable english accent).
Perhaps, I shall live to blog again!