Apr 5, 2008, 18:17:05

I think while cleaning up the broken glass in the drying rack. That is why one shouldn't attempt dishes while drunk. The little bits got everywhere, underneath and behind. And this before my morning coffee. (Oooh. It's ready. I won't be but a moment.) I construct a pile behind everything and try not to break anything else this morning. Humming Annie Lennox's 'Walking on Broken Glass', I remember the time I did. Stepped on a broken beer bottle when I was six and still a dancer. I sat out in PE, my heel held together with butterfly band-aids, but I still went to ballet. I think we may have been approaching a recital. The timing would've been right. I didn't run around barefoot in the winter, despite the temperate climes and our apparent poverty. I don't remember ever being poor, and then I don't think we ever were. I cannot think of a time when I expressed a desire to live outside our means, a time when I desperately wanted something I couldn't have. But then, I mostly wanted books. Or to stay with a friend, or to have a friend stay with me. And then we made up our continuing saga of pretend. Games based on movies or outrageous plot devices. Every girls' school had a secret underground main frame mega computer -- and a tunnel to the boys school across the way. Our games always included a healthy dose of hedonism. Whether we were saving the world from evil geniuses or reveling in the comeuppance of an accidental pregnancy - or mermaids; sometimes, in the summer, we were mermaids with underwater computer networks and a school of boys close-by - we made the rules. And so we always won.