I finally saw the Beyonce & Shakira video. Amazing how effortless it seems for Shakira to be sexy and in control of her own body. Beyonce just worked so hard. Even with a wind machine blowing her to hell and back she didn't pull it off. If she screws like she dances I pity Jay Z--especially if that's her "sexy" face. I need the Shakira album.
At some point I fell asleep. Dreamed (twice !) about being at a prom-like function. I wasn't in formal wear but a blazer, a baggy madras plaid shirt, slacks and (big gay inhale) sandals! I kept running into the daughter of a former coworker and said the same thing each time: "I haven't seen you in ages." She had on too much eyeliner (which only accentuates her lazy eye) and a fuschia sequined gown with assymetrical shoulders. The left shoulder was a mass of dyed-to-match maribou and feathers. It resembled nothing so much as tumorous cotton candy.
My thighs hurt like hell. It's deceptively sunny out. Chilly. This is just not cricket. Sunny means warm, dammit.
Poems have been coming but then stalling out about 8 lines in. I'm leaving them in the cannibal file and hoping that I can go back and work with them. They feel promising when I'm drafting but aside from the initial flash, there's nothing. Distressing.