Saturday, April 25, 2009

My friend's parents are in town and they/we are going to Cafe Flor, a fancy gourmet veg restaurant and I don't have to pay. This is excellent because I have very little money at the moment. One of those balancing between sending a check and hoping it doesn't get cashed until after payday, which is weird because I pay myself...Well, this is my attempt at constraint. Sad, I know. 

Oh, poetry sucks. I hate it. If I could write some cheery Northwesty poetry about driftwood and unicorns, I know I would feel better. I'm wearing a purple shirt that I actually ironed. I don't know what possessed me. To iron. I think I am avoiding writing poetry. Because I hate it. It crawls into my brain and I say terrible things, not nice things at all, like I was raised. Bad girl, bad girl. 


2 comments:

Mutating said...

I think you should worry when poetry gets in your brain and starts saying really nice things.

Dana

beth coyote said...

Oh, you're right. Except I want to write about real people who annoy/irritate/pester me...