I'll forget, but I'll never forgive
My phone said, "Restricted." That meant it was Ebner. Elusive, crusty, spits words percussively, but always--and I mean always--interesting and up to no good Ebner.
I was in for the night. I had previously written myself into a coma during a twenty-four hour, mineral water and incessant masturbation me-festival. Writing is so fucking hard. Why does it have to just explode out like that? Why can't it be like drawing? All piece-o-cake, no drama and you can do it any day at any hour? You can add and subtract, mindlessly, while day dreaming about Jessica Biel and totally not thinking about the emotion that is supposed to be represented within the piece, but your work still ends up being reliably evocative. I want to be able to write like that, and if you can, then I hate you. I fucking hope you die.
So I was pooped. Plus it was one of those double run days (training for a marathon and all). I could think of very few things that would have got me off my ass that night. Maybe if you took writers, lesbians, shamans and Thai massage girls, threw them all together and added alcohol, I could be persuaded. I'd sign up for that, I guess, but I would still be pooped and apathetic about it. Unless someone put something on or in my vagina, that is.
I answered, "Hi hon."
Ebner said, "Oh my god, you're not gonna belieeeeve the party I just came from."
"Oh yeah?"
"There were all these writers there, and some pretty hot lesbians, some Thai massage girls going around giving out massages and shit. Oh, it was awesome. I shoulda brought you."
"Uh, YE-AH."
"Oh the best was this shaman lady. You wouldn't have believed it. She was laying the lesbians down and putting this, this...thing, like an amulet, or a talisman or something on their vaginas--looked like an ashtray, but it was a talisman apparently--and they were getting all ecstatic and going into trances. It was amazing. Honey, why didn't I bring you with me?"
"I don't know why, and I'll never forgive you."
So that's it. That's my blog post; you read it, and you were totally daydreaming about Jessica Biel the whole time, weren't you? That's what drawing is like. Its so nice. Fuck writing.
Comments
Honest to God, I didn't think about Jessica Biel once. Except for the two times you mentioned her. Have you tried... um... brainstorming? Speaking as a person who has to plan before she draws... the write-anything-on-paper-and-it-all-comes-together-no-problem writers envy your ability to just sit down and create a masterpiece without letters.
My brother is one of those people. The drawing kind. I hate him. For more reasons than that. But that's one of many.
Posted by: Kelsness ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.thebunnyblog.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at October 30, 2006 10:15 AM
actually, i was daydreaming about jordana brewster.
Posted by: warrenm at October 30, 2006 03:43 PM
Bunny, while I have been a long-time voyeur on your site, I've never really felt the need to respond....however, I feel I have something to contribute to your cause.
Posted by: Dershum at October 30, 2006 08:15 PM
You're way better looking than Jessica Biel.
I think I'm going to enroll in lesbian shaman school as soon as possible. I'm in the wrong line of work.
Posted by: M at October 30, 2006 08:47 PM
It seems as though the Scientology Psychics are attempting to warp Marks perception.
Posted by: etherial9 at November 1, 2006 04:47 AM
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