The Road to Hell

Best intentions--planned on coming to this coffee shop to write fiction for one hour because I signed up to turn in a story in a week or so and I have nothing new. Liz and Luke will be visiting from Brooklyn next weekend for my reading thing so I won't have a lot of time to write then either...Scary (oh, a big cute black dog just walked in with his owner. How can a person not like dogs? They are always so waggy). I have bits and pieces of a story about working at the organ donor place but it's really fragmented and I don't know how to reign it in to a coherent narrative or what it's actually about, plus as I've mentioned before, it's a hard story to write without sounding moralistic. However, instead of writing, I have spent over an hour surfing the Web and reading other people's blogs.

(Aside: please kill me if I ever ever sound like this girl in here with her short bangs...She has the Philly Valley girl speak:"You knooowww, like I was like whatever, you know? I don't knooowww, you knoowww? Like, of course I carry around my own dice..." [she actually just said this]. "I jammed last night, it was really sweet! We just like sang a bunch of stuff to, you knoowww, hear it... I want to like cut out all of these pictures and like put them in random places, like the bathroom ceiling, you knoooww?" I think she likes this guy she's talking to--he's cute, tall, messy hair, slight sideburns, dimples, deep, low voice--I may be just projecting. She needs to let him talk. "I don't like ice cream." She's talking too much, giving him her verbal resume. "I gave my dog peanut butter once. It was really funny. That's awesome!" Maybe he likes her too. She's cute even if she never shuts up. "So, tell me what you think of this, because I need your opinion and if people don't like it, I'll just like ball it up and throw it in the trash." Oh, dear GOD, she just gave him a copy of a poem she wrote. OH, NO, don't!Thank God she's not reading it out loud but now she's pretending she doesn't care what he thinks. As he's reading it, she's casually flipping through the newspaper, even though it's upside down [not really]. He's now pointing out words in the poem that he doesn't quite get--it doesn't fit or something. She's defending it. "Well, it was an exercise they gave us. I can't remember what it was, but like, we had to use those words." She LOVES him. She is staring at him with her chin in her hands as he reads. "I mean, I wrote it like a year ago, I haven't looked at it since I found it." He's not reacting the way she wants...He's actually critiquing it. Now he's looking at his computer screen. He wants her to leave. She's trying to look at what's on his screen. She has a really really cute haircut, but I don't know how far it's going to get her).

Okay, and now I didn't even meet my other best intentions for today and write something about the Sims--that was my topic of choice because Celia gave me a Chuck Klosterman essay about the Sims. But now I am in a time curnch and must leave!

More later...