At the Foot of the Stairs

I just read that Julia appears to be pregnant with twins . I am holding my breath with anxiety: Twice as many things that can go wrong. Twice as many miscarriages that might happen. Twice as many babies might die. I keep reading her because her writing is so lovely. She is like a wonderful secret that the publishing world hasn't discovered yet, my very own Lorrie Moore. And yet, she makes me anxious. I want to drive to Minnesota and slap her. I am so glad that she is pregnant, but if she loses them and if she does this again, I will do it. I will drive up there and slap her. I said that last time too. And the time before that. But twins .

I just found a rather large sliver of wood on the floor right next to my foot. As I bent over to pick it up and place it on the coffee table, I was briefly tempted to jam it into my foot, hard, so I wouldn't have to go running today.

We were walking home from the Kum & Go tonight and I was smoking a cigarette. But I started to feel breathless, so even though I hadn't smoked very much of it, I tossed it into the street, and shifted our bag of chips, dingdongs, candy bar into my other hand. If he noticed that I had tossed my cigarette away, he didn't remark on it. I looked at the puddles on the street, leftover from many rains today, and wondered what would have happened if one of them had been gasoline instead when I flicked the butt away. I can't sleep tonight. Again. Probably because I had to lie down at 5, so very tired. We had sex and I came for a very long time, and I felt like I could have cum for an hour. But I thought he probably wanted to get to sleep at some point. I have a phone interview with a recruiter tomorrow morning. That was pretty stupid. I don't want the job. I am not planning to relocate. But I couldn't let the ego stroke pass me by. Or something. Tonight, lying in bed, I

Now, I live here .