Romantic Comedy
I take notes on the clown novel
I take notes on the clown novel while on legal drugs. Later, reading them back, I find myself funny.
I have a revelation, and the drugs help, which holds up even now.
A lesbian musical called TIGHTS.
I genuinely don’t know if others find me funny or are being nice.
I don’t think this qualifies as social anxiety because it doesn’t stop me from hurling myself into view.
Got scared. Think I’m becoming the clown.
Don’t have control due to unforeseen circumstances related to romantic vulnerability, a pre-determined subject of the so far underwritten volume.
Control. There’s a whole section about using the toilet, and it’s plain and abject.
Yes, the drugs were involved but again when I go back over it back sober, I’m not embarrassed. I can even imagine myself at a reading. A 27 year old asks me if it’s autobiographical. And I can respond “Are you asking that because I’m a woman?” You think it’s me on the toilet because I’m a woman.
As the stuff wears off and my heart rate regulates and I start to feel the shape of my face set properly in my bones I think about myself at sea. Under the water. Flopping about. I’m blowing bubbles. I have a perfect, pouchy amount of belly fat (can hold myself a little at night). I’m so happy. No drugs. I only have this thought when in agony.
Someone else is there. Oh, I used to wonder.