Talks. And tries to make me
About my creative process as an artist and a writer
and my influences and my inspirations
and other bullshit people talk about.
I tell her that I write because
when it is 3 o'clock in the morning
and its a power cut and you're suffering
from chronic insomnia and you're drunk
and you've just
puked half your guts out
and you have a spare
there is nothing better to do.
Except make scary faces in the mirror I guess.
But that gets boring, eventually.
And she whines. Oh so much.
She tells me how she hates
Bengalis and Porcupine Tree and shallow people.
Makes plans about the future. For me too, which
slightly annoys me.
Makes the most amazing brownies.
Reads more than most. Then gets whinier.
Disappears. For days.
Because she can.
Makes me heart wrenchingly curious about
what she is doing right now.
just brighten up your day.