Saturday, August 26, 2006

my head is a box...

I am a writer. Occasionally by profession, sometimes by action, mostly for recreation, I am a writer. I can't predict if writing is going to have anything to do with whatever I end up doing when I become a grown up but I am a writer. As a very great man, Toby Ziegler once said, I don't need paper. Its true. I spend my entire day writing stories and blog entries and just crafting sentances that will someday come out of my mouth and awe the people around me, "So well-spoken," they'll say. Most of the time when I'm staring off into space as you talk to me its because I'm crafting a story of you. Taking the pieces of you I like and making them a better reality which will sit lodged in my brain for a few days until I either a)forget about it or b)write it down (which is super rare--because things rarely sound as good on paper as they do in my head).

So in the past week I had been crafting a sentance. It was a run-on to be quite certain--but run-ons are how I am. I crafted it with a person in mind. I saw his face, blurry in my memory but quite vivid in the reaction I wanted. I cradled this sentace for about 4 days, hoping the situation would arise when I would get a chance to present it to this person.

Fast forward to last night. We start celebratory drinking at 6:30. On an empty stomach. I find that margaritas are quite delicious. Then comes a small dinner, more drinks, a play (which I totally fell asleep during because I'm an asshole- shh, don't tell), more drinks and a stumble out into the street where I pronounce to those listening on this island that I am quite shitfaced.

Then he enters. And I stop thinking. Because that's what boys and alcohol do to me. They make my brain stop. And all of a sudden I'm saying it. My precious baby of a sentace. Its falling out like drool without the appropriate facial gestures or pauses for emphasis.

And he doesn't even react. Well, he does. But not how I want. He laughs at me, doesn't really hear it, brushes it off, argues with the factuality of it (!!!). He acts as though he hasn't heard one of the most well written sentances that are meant to tell him how it is.

Then hugs me, kisses my cheek and walks away.

This is not how I wrote it ending. Which is why you should never drink and write.

**has anyone seen the new dell commercial with the kid and he's picking out the stuff for his computer and there's the song (which is where the blog title comes from)...who sings that and what's it called?? I love it.


that mckim girl said...

That used to happen to me all the time with He-Who-Drinks-Jamocha Shakes.

It doesn't matter how beautiful the phrasing is. The plot always turns out better in my head. When I find a man who makes the plot better 'outside the box', if you will...he's a keeper.

Anonymous said...

"catch my disease" ben lee

She's pint-sized and amazing.