Early this morning a car blew through a stop sign in front of me and I did a 360 degree skid getting out of its way. It didn’t even slow down. I chased the car down and got the license plate.
Soon after that I blew a speaker and fogged up my ears listening to Led Zeppelin.
Then I got my nose pierced!
Leaving the parking lot I nearly backed into someone and refused to apologize–what kind of nincompoop walks that closely behind a moving vehicle.
At the gas station, I stole a snickers bar because it said, “rebellious.” Come on–does anyone pay for that one?
I impressed some teen-agers with the speed of my car and volume of my bass.
I also got Lasix surgery and they threw in botox between my brows.
When I got home my child asked me for candy and I responded, “no.” He asked “why” and I yelled “because I am taking my ###@!! poop in peace.”
Then I went to take a one-day workshop on electric guitar and now I play. Like a boss.
On the way home, I illegally passed a very slow, dripping clean, white Mercedes while driving on a twisty residential street.
And I sang along to Supertramp so loud, they say I’ll need vocal node surgery (like Adele. Adele is so awesome).
Hopefully it will be a quick recovery, because I also got a call saying I made the cast of Ordway’s production of Wicked, coming soon!! Dream come true!
And coincidentally, I qualified for the extreme rescue division of the International Red Cross.
After I found out, I played the drums in my garage in a white tank top until I sweat like Mary Stewart Masterson. So. Inspiring.
And I dyed the ends of my hair five shades of pink and belted out, in my fast car, “Na na na na na na…she’s got the look” on my way to work.
When I walked into the Senate in a power suit and declared, “I’m selling your salaries to the highest bidder until you add inflationary increases to the General Education Fund,” they did it!
Since I was on a winning streak, I stabbed a snake fang into a book on Alzheimer’s and the disease oozed into the ether, like Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets, only forever.
Then I perfected my conversational Spanish.
Then, I had an affair with Kendrick Lamar.
I put my name in the hat for Presidency.
And drove twelve minutes further, bought a ticket, and sat alone among strangers on a plane to San Juan, anywhere.
But I made it back for choir, where I sang my angst so loudly into Beethoven’s 9th that my fingers bled (paper cut).
I tucked in my kids.
And drank tea.
Some days I amaze myself.