I want a thunderstorm. Not really the steady pouring or the drizzly NWestern stuff—I want a nice, loud, pound-the-windows, roaring kind. The kind that puts you to sleep at night. The kind that wakes you up a few hours later. I want crashing booms and a flash of blue light in the dark. Then, I want it to keep getting warmer and humid so that when you walk from the car to the house it feels good to get wet and better when you get in the air conditioning and your sundress is sticking to your legs and you get goose bumps, then you dry really fast and your hair’s all curly. Yeah.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Falling on your fire escape
I want a thunderstorm. Not really the steady pouring or the drizzly NWestern stuff—I want a nice, loud, pound-the-windows, roaring kind. The kind that puts you to sleep at night. The kind that wakes you up a few hours later. I want crashing booms and a flash of blue light in the dark. Then, I want it to keep getting warmer and humid so that when you walk from the car to the house it feels good to get wet and better when you get in the air conditioning and your sundress is sticking to your legs and you get goose bumps, then you dry really fast and your hair’s all curly. Yeah.
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8 comments:
(rolls eyes)
You writers.
If you want sex, just SAY you want sex.
Sheesh.
what? sorry, i was off smoking a cigarette and taking a nap.
Brain stole my line. AGAIN.
Well, I am a literal reader. I'm looking forward to storm season too.
However, if this is a metaphor...
Julie,
It's kind of like stalking. Only instead of following you around, I'm preceding you. It's pre-stalking. Kind of a Douglas Adamsy concept.
By the way, how are you managing your subconscious?
It rained here yesterday, but not sexy rain. It turned into sleet or tiny baby hail or whatever you want to call it.
jeesh, people, i'm gland i didn't tell the story of the time voix made mashed potatoes in my bedroom.
jessi, i manage my unconscious in the shower, just like the textbooks tell us to. hee.
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