Check.

Reading

Anne

Lamott

Imperfect

Birds

Had

Sassy

Eggs

Toured

Papered

Mic

Scratched

lacquered

Scalp

Opened

Digital

Camera

Brushed

Powdered

Sugar

Gave

Some

Remarks

Peeled

Eyes

Away

Took

In

A

Skunk

Shaved

Down

The

Middle

Waned

Through

My

Trunk

Had

Pleasant

Cakes

Dropped

A

Necklace

Down

A

Well

That

Was

Fair

For

Food.

He said there was a baby carriage down on Noyes street. But, nobody was pushing it. Then the lens shattered in his hand. And I thought to myself, Marie, everything is lost. Nowhere to go but south. Because who wants to live North of Evanston? I mean, really? This time of year?

I look better on whisky then I do on paper.

And I am now officially obsessed with Zola Jesus. Really came on quick. Love when that happens.

Remember when you were able to stand naked in a river in Maine, and the reflection staring back at you was more then acceptable. Borderline beautiful. Now if you could just get to the point where sitting naked on the closed lid of the toilette, with the folds of your flesh winking back at you, with the dimples of your sides squinting up at you--where that was border line stunning. We would be so rich. Because you're moisturizing after your shower to the drown of NPR, and you have to stop for Arizona, and all you can think about is how hard it is to stay small. And all you ever complain about is wanting to be like the big girls. And you know exactly what it's like to be nine years. That's about the age that you stopped.

Shame in Peace,

Skin and Toast