I stole this idea from http://simmonssays.wordpress.com/2008/05/21/writing-exercise/. I’ll totes give her credit.
I’m looking at 30. Yeah, that’s right. I’m getting fucking old. One of those legendary stories growing up was how, at the age of 3 or 4, I said that Madonna should retire from being a singer because she was 30. Because she was ancient. And here I am… 29 years old… turning 30 in a mere 9 months.
I don’t feel ancient. In fact, I don’t feel grown up. I have a house. A dog. A mortgage. Shit, I’m dog sitting my moms pups tonight. But I’m plowed. Ruby Red Absolut + Fresca + Top Chef = One Hell of a Wednesday Night in my book.
So, if we take the question more literally, what amI looking at? Well, the computer screen, obviously. And my reflection in the mirror. Since I was a little girl I’ve always been obsessed with my own appearance. Not too bad, I say… maybe a little pale. Definitely a little pudgier than I was last year. But I’m a cute girl… or so I tell myself.
What else do I see? I see a futon. I see purses. I see a room that needs to be cleaned. I hear dogs in the other room playing with something they’re not supposed to. Maybe I should go check on them.
So the dogs were in their crates. Good puppies. Then my brother called to say he sold his house. Yay!
Now I’m looking at my dog and the black dog fighting. This isn’t as interesting as I thought it would be. I’ll try again later. Maybe when I’m sober.