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January 16, 2006

January 16th, 2006

Laid up with a broken leg you look out of the rear window of your appartment and see...

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D: Cliché

I can't take it anymore, I'm going stir crazy! Broke this damned thing after my fight with Annie Wilkes. Six weeks of isolation and solitude. Every time I look out this window I catch someone watching me; Sharon Stone with her telescope, Jimmy Stewart using his binoculars. The Bates widows keep peering at me through her lace curtains. I had to crank up the volume to drown out the noise of Nicole Kidman and Bill Pullman trying to make a kid. I tell you I've had enough of this.

Soon as this cast comes off I'm going Rambo on them.

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Jim: Tableau Vivant

Look at him, standing broad and proud. People admire him, gaze lovingly at him, even reach out a tentative caress. He doesn’t brag or try to make me feel inadequate. But even though he’s too nice to point it out, I know he feels superior.

I was like him once, full of purpose and a sense of belonging. Then all that came crashing down in one thoughtless moment of lustful abandon.

Now here I am, flat on my back, my broken leg held aloft like a beacon of failure.

Why do some people think a table was designed for sex?

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