We rolled in this morning at 3 a.m. after a night out with P-Funk. Sort of a nostalgia trip, seeing all the Yale buildings roll out over the abject poverty of the rest of the city. It doesn't help that it's been 10 years since I actually went to Yale, this compounded by the fact the I "celebrated" my 33rd year of existence yesterday.
I tell you what, feels like 43 or 93 due to lack of sleep. I don't regret cutting myself off after two drinks, otherwise I'd be heaving out the weight program of the century. Either way, you can't see P-Funk without dancing your feet raw and wanting to dry hump every body in the room. Just happens.
Of course, I still have my heavy make-up on from last night. Anna's first question after she dumped a container filled with cupcakes into my lap was "What the hell happened to you?"
"I got into a fight." I wanted to see if she would take the bait.
"Huh. Doesn't look like you won. Next time you shouldn't wear heels, I guess."
And that was that, followed by a few comments about my scrawny arms and how clumsy I am. Faith does have rational limits when one is 9. She may, in fact, be the most rational person in the house, which is a scary thought to say the least.
"Free your mind, and your ass will follow."
This is a darkly humorous bit about life as a rural mother and freelance writer in Western Massachusetts. Little Appalachia, if you will. The title, I feel, clearly reflects how life is coming at me like an overloaded freight train, and my own ridiculous response to it. Me VERSUS all; teenage children, people who want me to work for free, conservative government, food karma, weird menfolk. You'll either laugh, shrug your shoulders, or call DSS immediately. Happy reading.
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