Diet Coke and Murder

By nighttime I just want to shoot myself. Because the day is ending, and then somebody usually calls and wants us to meet at the beach tomorrow and when the sun is going down all I can think about is please, somebody, will somebody put me to bed? I couldn't POSSIBLY do ONE MORE THING, let alone a WHOLE other thing, a tomorrow thing, involving driving and talking and packing and cooking and entertaining and then more driving.

And then the end of THAT day will be the same rush - that still has me putting people to bed too late, and that same feeling of why is everything so mad dashy, are we running a sprint every DAY? And then yes, I am trying to keep up with people who have shorter faster legs, and open minds and bright visions, everyday is a birthday party because it is summer, and I am just so GLAD there are these kids and there is Diet Coke. Because we are going to get married. Every day at 4 o'clock, Diet Coke and I remember our refreshing love. It's not that it tastes all that good. It's the same with the chickens, the bunnies, the dogs at our house. It's not that they are the greatest animals ever. It's just that they are simple, they don't beg for ipods, they don't say no. They're just sitting there, furry and cute, ice cold and all mine.

The simple things are my work bonuses. My happy way to say fuck off everyone. My nurturing bone is shattery. I need the perks. They ward off murder.