When the Credits Roll

I need a mental health break. I need adult conversation. I need a weekend of debauchery. I need a sensory deprivation chamber. I need a home with a wine cellar and walk-in humidor. I need to know that my Mother and Father will live forever. I need to know the same about my cats. I need to know that I won’t succumb to heart attack or stroke. Or drowning. I need to know that I am not ruining my child. My wonderful, intelligent, challenging child. I need a new fence, deck, and roof. I need an outlet. I need to lose 20 pounds. I need to rake the backyard. I need closure. I need that feeling I get between when the screen fades to black and the credits roll. I need to go to the dentist. I need to flirt. I need a cure for passive aggressiveness. I need to learn that recognizing a problem is not the same as addressing it. I need to write out bills. I need to travel outside of the country. I need to not get so angry at people in the grocery store (but honestly, are our fellow grocery shoppers not the rudest cocksuckers on the planet?). I need to shadowbox until my side hurts. I need to figure out who I am. I need to run with the bulls. I need to make this house a home. I need to work with the Boy on his letters. I need to stare at a blue moon. Retrieve it from its perch, hold it for a moment like a snow globe, replace it as carefully as a surgeon might repair a mistake. I need to accept the hospitality I’ll be shown in Portland and Seattle in a couple weeks. I need to feel the sun on my shoulders. I need…

And as I reread this and accept yet another truth about me, I obviously need to get over myself.

Done.

Salut!