the death of summer

The last blog of summer. Sad. You’d think I was dreading going back to work more than I actually am. True, I would much rather do this each and every day, and get paid for it, but I know how good I have it. Teachers are spoiled rotten, and if I am lucky enough to at least be able to write during the summer and get published (even if only five people read my books) I will be satisfied and continue to enjoy my crazy children. As I have stated before, I am very nervous about what getting back into my old routine will do to me emotionally—cross that bridge when I get there, right…

Just so you can know what I am experiencing at the moment—Across from me, attempting to use the pay phone is a tall woman. Probably well over six feet. Her back ridged straight (she is the original inspiration for ‘stick up the ass’ it seems). She has on orangish Bermuda shorts, a thread bare ‘white’ t-shirt, and her keys on a rope around her neck. No bra. Her belly is large. Large. Hard and large. Like she is pregnant. Several times. All at once. Right now. Her breast hanging on either side of her large and hard belly—nearly half way down her hard and large belly. No bra. Large (or at least long) breasts on large and hard belly with no bra. Oh, and they are jiggling. Maybe quivering. Maybe they are scaring themselves. By the way, she’s not moving as she stands there. Not at all. Remember the stick up her ass? Yeah, well, she’s not moving. However, her breasts (long over large and hard belly, no bra) don’t seem to know that she is stationary. Still, they move to their own rhythm. Maybe they are simply trying to get away. I don’t really know who to feel more sorry for—the long and syncopated breasts or the hard and large belly—maybe neither. It seems her gums (sans teeth) seem the saddest. I tell ya, if I get published, this lady is making a cameo in some novel. You can’t make this shit up. Oh, oh! Maybe I’ll make her a nun! Or a televangelist! Actually, I see her as a dog breeder who raises Pomeranians, lives with her husband Clyde who is skinny (but has long balls [good for him—Jealous!]) somewhere in mid Okalahoma. There will be a tornado, a few lost puppies, maybe a cringe worthy accident with farm equipment involving one of the large twins (breasts or balls), but through it all, there will be love. Love. Love conquers all, dammit. Good thing I’ve started writing fantasy!