At Least They're Committed

There’s ever so much I should be doing, but I think instead I’ll sit here and prattle onward and play with my imaginary friends. I’m twisting back and forth in my chair, my head slightly tilted to the side. I can seeeee my reflection in the window and I look OK, I guess. I yawn and stretch my arms over my head until my stomach is bare. Nobody can see but Jingles and me!

Been here almost four hours already. Been a good girl, though. Got a lot done. Yay me! So I don’t want to do anything else . . . not for a few minutes anyway, maybe never.

Storm! A storm is coming in! Can you see it? I see it! Bushy gray clouds over the city spires! It’s not my storm, though. It must be someone else’s. I’d know if it were for me. Like the time I was defending my Little Girl to the so-called Christian Mom of her now ex-boyfriend who said she dressed sleazy. And as I spoke of Christianity, hypocrisy and “thou shalt not judge” the wind kicked up around me, enveloping Bugaboo and me in a swirling torrent that made our hair and our clothes whip vehemently around us. It was noisy and the high pitch of the gale seemed to capture and echo my every word . . . a wind that did not touch anyone else and subsided when I was done talking. The woman started to cry. Yeah! It was awesome!

Still twisting in my chair. Humming softy to myself . . . “thou shalt not kill,” I glance at my signed Reggie Rivers photo (“Cathy, I want your body you hot babe!!” — wait, are there two or three exclamation points on there? Hard to tell. Anyway, my photog, Jaime, requested ‘hot bitch’ but Reggie laughed and said Babe might be safer.)

E-mail note that Deanna gave me: “People of Earth, knock it off, all of you . . . seriously, what the hell? — God.” My babies, me being eaten by Godzilla, thank you cards, FeeFee (mutant dog from first, really bad Hulk), Rasta Man from the Thelma and Louise trip to Virginia and the 1959 Michigan beer mug my dad pilfered from a panty raid at the girls’ dorm. We all want to play.

I ruffle my hair and lean forward, hugging my chest. Cleavage! I knew it was there somewhere. Oh, wait! Does that mean I’m a grown up? Oh, no! Wait, noooo, don’t go away! I still want to play!! Pththththtttttt! Crap! Back to work.