on writing, apparently.

Need to send out work to be published. 

Family. Theatre has only ever been family. And people in Kerala. Somehow. Had I something different than I have, I might be happier, but there is little purpose in pursuing such thinking. I need to see what’s good in Edmonton. I will Google Edmonton. I think my favourite part of yesterday was hanging out watching This Is 40, and chatting with Lulu. Names have been changed to protect identities, which is silly because this is the internet, and on the internet, we are all practically naked. Figuratively, while some, literally. I will need to buy a new sketch book. 

My mother has even admitted she felt I was born to the wrong parents. I could have ice cream but it’s late. My mother has never worn a dress, as a woman, I don’t think. It was raining today. I feel inadequate, physically and otherwise. I am unsure why this is emerging. I love shopping. I love clothes. Since when did this happen? The May edition of Flare has an article about trichotilomania. I was surprised. Maybe I should have ice cream, upstairs. Should. This is a time of being alone. This is a time I need alone. 

I want to run around the city myself, though it is so sprawling that it would be a slight challenge. Just drop me off downtown with a map and a camera, I’ll be fine. I need to buy headphones. My jaw is tense. I’m turning into my father. Ha, jaw wise, only. I crave company yet I crave to be alone. I must be a writer. 

 

About Moon Eggs

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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