My brain is constipated. I’ve wanted to write a post for days, I swear. There were lots of stops and starts—posts about the heat, my impending 34th birthday (yuck), and my dreams of becoming unemployed. But it all sucked.
I’ve decided to use a writer’s version of a laxative—the free writing technique that I was reminded of Monday night in my sketch comedy class. Here goes. Hold your noses. I can’t be held responsible for what’s about to come out. I, Angie Tee, will write whatever pops into my head for 60 seconds and promise to not go back and edit it.
I am eating an enormous burrito right now. We got them from a place called La Placita but I think I’m funny so I call it La Placenta. That grosses all my coworkers out but they still want to eat form there. Go figure. I was 36 years late to work yesterday, apparently when you are a city to suburb to commuter, waking up 15 minutes late can translate into being well 36 years late. Fucking A. I've never heard this Tom Petty song before. This burrito isn’t nearly as hot as it should be. I wish I had some jalapenos. I’m thirsty.
In my class Monday we did the free writing, but only with a pen and paper. I hate writing the “old school” way, and ended up with a major hand cramp and three pages of “I hate fucking free writing when is this jagoff gonna tell us to stop,” written over and over and over.