Dept. of Random Rantings
 From my archives, a piece of angst, typed out on a G3 iBook, circa 2000:
You know, I had this really clever little
monologue in my head, all sorts of really deft turns of phrase and those
sort of wittily incisive comments that brighten a room right up (whilst simultaneously
expressing and masking the speaker's Inner Pain.....you know, that really, really clever,
oh sort of, "The Thin Man meets Oscar Wilde in Gertrude Stein's kitchen during the
birthday party she's throwing for Woody, whom she adores, even though she thinks
the whole Woo Li or Li Ping business is rather dodgy" sort of clever remarks.) with
their sparkle, all while showing a deeply felt intelligence and stout heart but when
I sat down to write it all down, that absolutely brilliant bit of drawing room rhetoric just
sort of fizzled away into the "heh-rooow's?" of Bob the Cat demanding that I join him
at his dinner bowl to watch him gustily grind up those flaky brown pellets he calls his evening snack.
Oh bugger.
I mean, it was really great- all sorts of stuff about me being rather dodgy myself and how
one should never watch Notting Hill alone on a Friday night whilst eating a delivery
pizza because it'll fill your heart with despair and jealousy over happy couples and sparkling
dialogue (no monologues for that Curtis lad, oh no! It's all robust, healthful, "good Charlie's
here to tend to you, Miss. Don't be worried" sort of stuff) and floppy hair and enormous teeth
and smiling and laughing and hugging and (sigh....) kissing and good cheer and fellowship and
sport and a really nice pair of briefs, all while you're sitting on the dilapidated sofa that your
ex-boyfriend didn't want (sort of like your heart- the two can commiserate with each other.....call
it "The Lonely Hearts and Cushions Club".) drinking a San Pellegrino that's slightly flat (sort of like your
less than awe inspiring chest) and thinking that (to more blatantly steal some witty bits from the picture)
you're a girl in front of a coffee table wanting to be loved and all you've got is digital cable, a big grey cat
and yet another greasy pizza box. Dammit.
Well, I was going to write that monologue but I can't remember a bloody word of the damn thing and I'm
stone cold sober, what with only slightly flat San Pellegrino in the house and all and that I'm tired and
lonely as hell and I think it's time to just crawl into bed, cry myself to sleep and hope that Bob will decide
that it's OK to curl up next to me.
'Night, all.
1:50:01 AM 
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