Today has been a day of news that isn’t. Mishka’s breaking up with her boyfriend because they’re not “soulmates”, Beth’s had to cancel on me so no Costume Party this evening, and work was supremely dull. Not a day of inspiration. Working with children kills braincells. Ther’s nothing immortal about them.
Now I’m sitting like some Nice Girl from the fifties. Waiting by the metaphorical phone for a boy to call her out to the Malt Shoppe. Ankles crossed with a hope in hand. It’s not an image that belongs. I don’t sit right for bobby socks.