tavie.com

Someone dug into the Jell-o, but it wasn't me (as I predicted.)

I had a lovely long gigglefest with my kitling, much of which was spent wondering why we don't live somewhere together in a bungalow. She must go to grad school here in this city, she simply must. We must have our sitcom house together. Please, oh please, baby jebus, I've been so good.

I'll sing to you:

I can get a job
I can pay the phone bill
I can cut the lawn
cut my hair
cut out my cholesterol
I can work overtime
I can work in a mine
I can do it all for you
but I don't want to.

And now I'll sing to you some more:

I guess this is goodbye, old pal
You've been a perfect friend.
I hate to see us part, old pal.
Some day I'll buy you back.
I'll see you soon again,
I hope that when I do,
it won't be on a plate.

And now back to speaking:
It seems to me that the one dream I'm destined to actually live out is the dream of divahood. You don't have to be pretty; real divas aren't pretty, they're bold and sassy. Bette has a big nose and Aretha is a big girl. So I think I can do okay with the visuals. What I need help with is the attitude. The goal must be: erase self-doubt. Erase self-loathing. Keep self-criticism quiet and constructive. Flaunt now, question later.

Yes, well that's all well and good, darling, but what, exactly, do you plan to flaunt?

(Tavie arches an eyebrow.)

No, dear, you mustn't be catty to yourself. Try again.

...

...sigh. Go do your homework.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:58 AM | shower me with attention