via Young Winona Sinks Her Fangs into the Virgil on all Hallow’s Eve Advertisements
A Sunday of early risings. Missed church. A long commute to audition for a role that I seemed to be a whole foot too tall for and 20 years too old for. Conversation and lunch with my very own Jazmin flower, although she is much more beautiful than in it’s full bloom glory. An interruption of Zeppelins’ Cashmere by the Emergency Broadcast System warning me of the volatile storm and impending doom that my Prius was already cutting through on the freeway.
With a guilty pleasure pit stop at the grocery store for a Rockstar energy drink to catapult me into the second half of the day, I dart to the hospital to visit my good friend’s Dad who is recovering from surgery with the aforementioned storm slapping and shaking his room window. A stop at the liquor store for a couple of quick-picks and eventually I find my way back home.
Safe, dry, silent home, with the exception of the pitter patter of rain and of my dog Hawk’s paws clambering excitedly across the tile floor to greet me. A couple of loads of laundry and a devoured avocado sandwich later, I am trying my hardest to relax and enjoy the Grease: Live on Fox TV, but after 10 minutes, I am bored, and it’s turned off.
It’s trash night, so I take it out to the curb in my pajamas. It’s cold and blustery. The wind is making spooky music through the palm fronds on my Canary Island Date tree. I go back inside and turn off the lights and head for bed. The Rockstar has left the building and my blurry eyes are closing down yet another blue Sunday.