I thought she was American

I thought she was American,

I really don’t know why.

Her frame was large,

shapely.

Her purple vintage coat,

fell over her knees

in neatly pleated frills,

Vibrant, dazzling.

Her heel was ladylike

Her hair elegantly, gently,

pulled

to the back of her head.

Her smile was wide, flamboyant.

When she opened her mouth,

her Liverpudlian syllables filled every corner of the room,

and a small stone of disappointment

dropped in my chest,

with a muffled plop.

I thought she was American.

How stereotypical am I?

This sure was a fiery sunset.

 

And she let herself be known.

I Love You

When I saw that I was laughing manically and pawing at the wall as I did so, it became evident that I was indeed overtired.

I read somewhere once that being overtired is almost like being drunk. I am not too clear on the particulars of said study, if it was even a study, however I do see why it could have been so.

I was existing on a mere hour’s worth of sleep from the previous night, in which I sat up till the larger of the smallest hours of the morning -that is 5am when it’s at home- tapping away at my keyboard, waffling on about the economic advantages of knowing English and the resulting remonstrances…

ANYWAY I said to myself, “alright Lenna dear. Pack your things away”

Only I couldn’t really because it was most unsuitably cold and I was most frightfully anxious about my submission, and so oh so dreadfully battered. I lay on the sofa with all my work spread out over the table, which was a sore idea given that the house was full of humans and one very inquisitive baby – I don’t believe I even saved any of my work – and the next thing I knew was that I was in bed with a snoring Damian to my left.

Naturally I leapt out because holy mackerel the sun was out and WHAT TIME WAS IT BECAUSE I HAVE A DAMN DEADLINE.

Turns out I didn’t miss any deadline (although I MIGHT if I don’t get my act together).

Oh dear, so I was awfully drunk on lack of sleep. The baby was trying on Damian’s boxers which was hilarious. Her small feetses didn’t know where the holes were but she was so engrossed and preoccupied and absorbed and consumed and submerged in this riveting new task that it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She then proceeded to wrap his shirt around her plump little self. I was leaving though so I demanded my kisses and she complied, plopping small wet ones on my cheeks and nose and forehead.

“I LOVE you!” I said, kneeling before her and dropping a small kiss on her massive cheeks.

She glanced at me as she worked out the laborious process of an adult shirt and murmured, “Ayy brrthwrl yooo”

Which, my sunshine, is good enough for me. Goodnight. GOODNIGHT I SAY. And welcome to dreamland. Huzzah.