HURRICANE HOLLY

Plus... an earthquake and its aftershocks

SUNDAY:

There’s a hurricane. “Hurricane Holly”, my neighbor said, laughing, as I fluttered into her apartment wearing all white silk in a storm. I asked if I could read her and her boyfriend who is also my neighbor the first chapter of my book that I’m working on. At this point, I’ve probably written and rewritten it ten or fifteen times at least. The first chapter is really important.

Just as I was about to begin, the L shaped sectional we all sat on shook, knocking us about with a few big jolts. It was appropriate timing, especially considering the subject matter. Heavy. Deep. Destructive. Shaken to the core.

I really want to run away and have hotel sex, order room service, lounge by a pool, smoke a jay, and then have more hotel sex. I want to run away from my laptop and my brain. I want to have a cuddle and a make-out. I want to have hotel sex.

I can’t think about hotel sex. But it’s all I can think about. It’s all I want to think about.

Every time I open my laptop to write I have to ge…