MomslaughtThe aloof sensation of returning home after some lengthy period of absence is an utter cliché. The amount of entertainment based upon said sensation is astounding. I can’t help letting it get to me, however. It washes over me every time I roll through those worn down streets that I wound about for so many years. I suppose it happens to everyone. It’s a concept I would love to bottle, but I doubt many people would buy it. It’s already too familiar. The last time I experienced it was just over a month ago. I was making the trek to see my brother perform in my old (his current) high school’s annual musical. Small town, small school pMomslaught
The Weird MassageHer morning began as her mornings do: a wrist limping back to a body, a body limping out of the room--both belonging to her and both following, immediately, the end click of a don’t-call-me-anymore telephone conversation. She steadied herself out of sleep over the small jaunt from bedroom to kitchen. The cupboard doors found a rhythm as she began a slow forage. She breezed by bagels, Folgers, and granola. The day felt like cereal. Her fingers penetrated the thicket of boxes and foodstuffs until she found it. The yellow box beamed in the mid-morning light. Its juvenilely bright text-covered exterior effervesced even through the small layer ofThe Weird Massage
2: Hawt Mammaz4:30 am:2: Hawt Mammaz
On the drive home my palate aches to be drenched. This is the way a good night is supposed to end, but I am not nearly accustomed to it. My hands slide around a pleather circle in an act of guidance. I'm on the long road home in a dark, fancy-free way. From the left, green lights shoot me hard on the face. With these, I read velocity. Red glares a Beelzebub glow from my right. I am all sorts of Christmas, but this is a weekend of witching, and on the radio those witches are a weird weather. I am dumb/deaf to surrounding signs. The sky is something new. You
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"Spock. This child is about to wipe out every living thing on Earth. Now, what do you suggest we do....spank it?" -- McCoy (Star Trek: TMP)
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