...the junk drawer of my mind... look if you want. you might find dreams scraps (maybe featuring you?), poem scraps, ideas unformed or abandoned, dried out sharpie pens, 37 cent stamps, lies and red-herrings, lip-gloss and assorted dangling and/or misplaced modifiers.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
I am trying to wear a big, long, blue, heavy fabric(ed) thing that fits over my shoulders like a mantel.
I try to flip it non-chalantly over one shoulder.
My therapist has a similar thing I can have, she says. A burgundy coat with an asymetric collar weighted to one side. She looks nice in it but I doubt I will.
There are preparations for dinner. I have glasses out for everyone. Wine and one or two with wine and lots of cheese. No one picks them up so I bring them along to the restaurant where we will have our celebratory meal. Rainer is there and Reinhard and Emily and my mom and I guess that's it. Our table is tiny, tiny - an alcove with a ceiling over our heads the size of our table and pressing at the top of our heads.
We are in Paris, or somewhere. A neighborhood we should have researched first as (as with London 2012) it is WAY to expensive for us. Anyway. I am very claustrophobic and ask to sit on the outside.
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