I Feel Pretty

I was rolling toward Boston today- feeling all pretty. I know you know what I mean, gals. It’s something twixt reality and mental illness-but you know it when it happens. Hell-it’s all in your mind- this feeling beautiful thing. And so I play hard with it when it comes along.

Today-I’ve got to say-I was channeling Charlize Theron- even though I am closer to say, Dame Judi Dench- if truth be told. When I feel this Charlize way, I keep checking myself out in the rear view. I smile at how my hair falls, I run my fingers through it slowly, with my head tilted back, ever so slightly for effect. I marvel at the way my wrinkles seem to be responding so well to the cream that I bought at the T J Maxx clearance aisle. My teeth seem impossibly white- and I apply another coat of plummy color- as I sail along- Pandora bleeding lovely love songs.

And oh yeah. I'll admit this for all of us. I flirt with men at stop lights. Anyone that looks over thirty is fair game.

Come on. You know how it’s done…if you don’t, crawl back into your habit. There’s that sidewise glance while you tap the steering wheel to the beat of the love. And then you make the move- that absent –minded sidewise glance.

Oh? Were you looking at me? Smile.

They usually aren’t- and I must interrupt my reverie-as the guy behind me blasts his horn to move it as the light goes green.

If you are heavily into your reverie, every song appeals in some way so personal-like it is your life out loud. You blast the radio louder. And sometimes you hit a spot of highway where the road undulates slightly-between macadam sections-and the car bounces in its springs, in rhythm with your heart. Like the road wants in on this happy mood. Sometimes it just feels so damn good to drive- when the music and the mood are right.

As my peaceful, happy state lights me up, I can almost see myself in a film noire, the camera in close- catching every nuance of my pretty face- as I approach the Boston skyline.

Go on…go there the next time you feel it. Feel pretty.

Here's the link to my Gather posts....haven't posted in quite a while. Some of this is ancient. All unpolished....but some worth your while...I hope!

http://www.gather.com/viewPostsByMember.action?memberId=54629&currentPage=1&start=0

Here I am . It is December One. A full 3 1/2 months since I sat in the desert with a full out throng of brilliant women writers. Way back in August....there were all those pink and purple nights in a row. And each night, as the sun set over the canyons- my eyes would be pulled from the nothing short of majesty of the rocks- as my ears were bedazzled by the words of my fellow writers.

I admit it-I counted myself among them- when the wine made me heady with the delight of hearing their words piercing the thin air- and then hanging there forever. Words that were so important...they fell all around me in the darkness and made me cry. But with each writer's reading, I felt more diminished and insecure.

I would -each night-be stunned aware. Shaken out of this reverie where I belonged with these amazing souls- so full of this incredible creative force. Instead of getting in my little kayak, and paddling along in that energy, I was swallowed alive by it. They all deserved the joy that lit up every face. But I? I was just an observer. Each night- instead of feeling renewed and energized-I felt ashamed of myself. I watched their faces as they read their work. So full of conviction and pride. So sure. And I wanted to die.