not sleeping anymore

truth about babies.

it’s but the two month anniversary of cable TV in my living room and I’ve already found my mind feeble for it. between back to back viewings of Rachael Ray’s 30 minute meals (as well as the making of “Rachael Ray’s 30 minute meals”) I’ve managed to watch Dirty Dancing 5 times this past week. Not normally prone to speaking in movie quotes (those of you that know me can attest to my complete lack of this sort of knowledge), I found myself repeating “shoulders back, head up…” in the fitting room today (weekly retail therapy).

Later during table conversation, I had a far off look in my eyes because I was thinking about appropriate ways to insert “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” into the mix.

Now on the walk home, I’m remembering the first time I saw that scene. I was six. Moments after the credits rolled I ran into my bedroom and found this pink nightgown, convinced I looked just like Baby, I twirled around my bedroom.
And so, what’s changed.
I’m thinking.
It’s ironic the way media can make you want all the things you’re not (and you actually don’t want to be… ie why would I ever want to be a “Baby”)
So then, what does Baby have that I don’t?
(awesome: I can develop an inferiority complex against a fictional character).

And now on my walk home, my skinny high heels prick the pavement during each fast paced step (some harder than others). My hips sway beneath upright shoulders, between straightened back, balanced over slender heel (calves tightened), as I’ve determined the only successful posture. From right to left, my hips brush between my vintage blue handbag (weighted by my mag flashlight and tazer) and my guitar case from which my fingers are calloused around the handle.
I wonder how anyone could ever know how small I am inside, when the heels I chose are higher by the day.

How could anyone know that I desperately need to be pulled from the corner, when I’m standing onstage.

posted by d @ 11:21 PM