Cut Cut

What is the point in writing fast and meeting deadlines when your writing lacks soul?

I’m pretending I know all about soul. Mostly I don’t.

But criticism is a God-given talent. And God, bless Her soul, gave everyone enough by which to live, love and prevail.

But I’m feeling defeated. And punctured. And tired. And weepy. [There’s got to be a fifth thing I’m feeling. There is. But it’s unrelated. It’s gorgeous. It’s like scaling mountains and crossing seas and turning cartwheels and winging bird flights and singing to a valley of flowers and honeybees.] But back to this. This horrid sense of being trapped.

I’m so afraid to take the plunge. To jump in and sully my fingers with the mess of mauling her words. One by one by one. It’s as M said “some people don’t like ever being seen as the bad guy. Even if it means sacrificing things bigger than themselves for it”. I am a selfish bastard like that. Selfish and weak.

This is where I stick out my lower lip, creep around on all fours, hold up sad-faced emoticons on eff-b and soak in your pity. Golum I am.

I wish I were Lady Macbeth. I’d edit ruthlessly.

***
Maybe I am. I just did. Liberation. Lalala.

Madonna I'm not

EMmmmmmm, do I whiiiiiiiiiiine? I was moonwalking my toes on the wall, being cute. Even on the phone, moonwalking your toes on a wall can produce aural nuances that are hard to resist. In a non-sexual way, of course. This is M we’re talking about.

To moonwalk your toes on a wall you must lie back in bed. Roll over on one side, facing said wall, and then proceed to give it the sort of footsie feel-up it’s never had since gravity.

But this is M.

She’s a hardass.

Of course you do! she said, like it was the most natural behaviour to exhibit, if you were H. She was munching on something, clearly not paying attention to subtle aural nuances.

Reaaaaalllllllllllllly? I whiiiiiiiiiiine? My wall was near shuddering, I’m certain. But M, heartless M, continued to respond with irritating honesty.

Yes. There are some people who laugh a lot. Some who sulk a lot and then, there are those who whine a lot. You’re of the third kind.

Silence.

I hate it when people start sentences with – there are two kinds of people in the world… But I couldn’t fault M on that. She said three. And to her credit, they weren’t mutually exclusive. Okay so maybe she needed another kind of prodding.

Like I’m thaaaaaaat annoying, M?

No. It’s not annoying. It’s just whiny. It’s like you like pink. You also whine.

But you don’t count M. You’ve known me nearly 12 years now. Do you think if someone new heard my voice they’d be irritated?

I would’ve taken her response seriously, but she paused.

Boshoolooh

This morning I woke up to the alarming sound of me saying something.

“Foosha mashkoona pashi pooka mashukina paachooo”

‘Tis a rare occurrence even in these parts to wake up mid-sentence. I lay as if still asleep, wondering how long it could go on.

“Peechie lacoo maiyashakaap poochika moopalooh”

I am so farking cute. And scary to wake up with.