So my glasses are bugging me, I just started having to wear drug store readers a couple of years ago and I hate it. I am now taking the glasses off and I am just going to type whatever I think. Let’s see if anything good comes. I imagine there will be an oyster which holds a diamond encased pearl.
The only thing I can remember saying as a child that I wanted to do as a grown-up, besides Playboy Centerfold, which I told to Billy Leach in the lunch line and Billy Leach immediately told our teacher, Mrs. Langridge as she so serendipitously walked up to speak to us. Thinking back, I have no idea why I said that so I guess I meant that shit. The other thing I said I wanted to do was to write a book.
I even started a hundred drafts or 4 during my elementary, and junior high years. I never finished any of those drafts but I just started another one after a 30-year hiatus from novel writing. I even went and bought some nice book writing software and everything. I have not written in a few weeks. BUT! My start was ART!
Enough about that New York Times Bestseller, let us now meet the author. Her name is Sarah but she has more than a couple alter egos whose names are actually front page googlable.
I had a normal eighties uprbringing. My parents divorced before I could remember them being married. My dad left my mom when I was 18 months old and kidnapped me, got remarried and moved us to Alabama. I did not meet my mother until I was almost seven years old. By the time I met her my dad had worked some magickal voodoo on me and even though I went to her house every other weekend, and four weeks (not in a row) in the summer, I never could get close to her. I’m pretty sure that it was me running from that relationship, but when you’re a kid, you don’t know you’re fucking running from shit unless it’s got legs and it’s chasing you.
I am 46 years now. When I realized the depth of how increasingly perturbed and distressed I was becoming over aging, I happened to look in the mirror, something I very rarely do, and I saw this one thicket of grey hair. All of it grew together and it is very similar to the grey streak in Elvira, “Queen of the Dead’s” hair. That was when I said, “you know what? Fuck it. Let’s have fun with this. No more crying about getting ugly….everybody does it and no one gets out of it….I mean unless they die young.
That’s really all I feel like sharing right now.
I hope your day is a beautiful one.
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