I actually just said, out loud, "I wish I could write like him." The dogs raised their sleepy little doritos-smelling heads and thought, "What an idiot. Doesn't she know we don't understand what she just said?" Silly dogs, I wasn't talking to you anyway. To have the capacity to just reach up, grab a thought as it whizzes by, and actually explain it in such a way that someone happening by would completely understand what I'm trying to say and be awed by the beautiful imagery I used to describe it would be incredible. Instead, I try to explain the same tired old ideas in the same tired old ways. And I wonder why I'm so tired all the time?!
I was thinking today about what might be appropriate to write tonight. Could I pick one of the virtues I so adore in a friend and expound upon it? The willingness to listen, the sweet attempts they make to understand my b-a-l-o-n-e-y, their patience and compassion, or their extra efforts to look through the many faults and failings and just plain love me anyway. Would I wax poetic about good times, good people, and good music? Or should I just get it over with already and sing a chorus of... no, never mind... no one wants to hear me sing.
And, by the way, the "him" to whom I was referring is Jason, of course. X to tha O.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment