Inner dialogue

I should be sleeping or working on looming writerly & editorial projects. Instead I nap at inappropriate times & then find it to difficult to sleep at the appointed hours. I had a mega-shit day at work yesterday where I screwed something up and I cannot shake this feeling of horror at my own moments of stupidity. On the upside, every other day or so, a customer will say how much they like my hair. It's too bad the brains lurking underneath my curls are so totally made of colossal FAIL. I'm glad I had today off. I painted my toenails bright bubblegum pink & drank a cherry coke to cheer myself up, but I still feel craptacular. I would have made cookies but I was too sad to bake. If I still feel bad tomorrow I might have a rootbeer float for dinner. So much for quitting soda pop, eh? I have to be at work by 7 a.m. I hope I see something that makes me happy, like a baby contentedly gumming his mom's car keys or an elderly man shopping for lightbulbs with his poodle. The other night I got an excited wave from a little girl with sparkly shoes who had scribbled on her own forehead with scarlet lipstick. We should all take a moment to doodle on our foreheads with lipstick once in a while. I hope tomorrow is a better day.

If I find myself unemployed again I shall have to write vivid erotica under a fabulous nom de plume or sell cellular phones on commission.



That is all.