pages 29 and 30

by beginningstoendings

Outside the rain has picked up even more—the puddles already immense at the corners of each sidewalk.  SmartCars, Audis and Minis zip past, ushering shoppers to their new debt inducing locations.

Scurry, scurry.

I deploy the chute of my umbrella and stand momentarily in the downpour—my pants getting drenched from the back spray off the street.  I feel like a minor character my own book.

I somehow let you play the lead and didn’t even know.

***

I come back to my apartment, my little home, my hardwood haven.  Kate Bush playing in my C.D player.  I had a craving for her after the re-mixing I heard last night.  Corny yes, but well written, much like my own…positive thoughts only.  I check the little mirror in my bathroom.  My face is hilarious.

If I only could make a deal with God

I decide to conquer my hideousness one glass of water at a time and start chugging from a refilled 1.5 litre Evian water bottle.  Perhaps every hour on the hour I’ll repeat this and see if I can drown my acne.  And good lord, my hair is even worse.  I worry about this too much.  Beauty they say is from the inside out.  Think beautiful, be beautiful.  Be beautiful.  Maybe it helps that I’m smart…sort of.  A good personality can disguise a dumb face, stupid hair, flat chest, skinny legs and a crooked grin.  And whoever told me that should be shot.  I should have started to save my money from the very start.  Buy my way into good looking.  Tori Spelling did it, and it worked…some would say it worked.  Most of them are other celebrities.  Buy a new nose, cut out your crooked teeth, stick your ass in your lips, get daily facials and monthly manicures, and take lessons for speech and etiquette.  Exercise.

Get him to swap Our Places

I notice that the light on my answering machine is flashing and I check my voice mail.  Hey there, you’ve reached Katharine Henry’s residence.  To your dismay I’m out or unable to come to the phone.  Leave your name and number and I’ll call you back whenever possible.  Thanks.

Beeek

“Hello this is a message for Katharine Henry.  Katharine, this is Dan McKarvey calling from FoundationCreative.  We want to thank you for your submission but…Uhm, we have a great degree of publicity involved with the promotion of our authors, poets and artists.  We do a lot of showings, openings and signings, more than most publishing houses…you get the idea.  Your poems are quite lovely, but at this time, with the showcasing we’ve been trying to so of young, fresh and sexy talent I am afraid we will be unable to represent your work at this time.  Best of luck however and as I said your poetry is edgy and I look forward to reading it in a publication.”

I hang up the phone crookedly in the receiver.  At this point I would have to re-examine why I sent the man called Dan any of my work.  It’s almost too fitting for the day because of the farce that occurred earlier.  I already feel defeated but now this: get rejected not for a lack of talent but for…well.  So close and yet so very, very far.  It’s like being in the middle of the ocean, stranded and someone throws you a lifesaver but the lifesaver is lead weighted and pulls you down further.

It feels like that.

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