The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

She thinks she might be becoming a bit of a recluse and wonders if it’s a problem. Or not a problem. Strange behavior for an actor though. Maybe.

For a few moments the sky is dark. She needs to act fast if she’s going to walk. But no sooner does she think the thought, the sun is suddenly back in full force. Fine she won’t walk. Anyway, she knows better than to be duped by clouds in Southern California. Clouds are tricksters and don’t spell relief. She wants to stay in anyway. The walk was more for the other her, the dutiful her. She has a lot to do indoors. She is on high alert with the dust buster. She feels she may have conquered an ant colony, and she needs to be around to vaccuum up the stragglers who refuse to die by poison. They try and hide in the carpet, instead of returning to their lair…nest…whatever. She feels cruel, but it’s a necessary cruelty. Her sanity is at stake. And when you’re verging on reclusivity, all you really have is your sanity. Images of a delusional Van Gogh being beaten down by the sun with a brush in hand waft through her mind. He was most certainly a recluse. And sane? Well, maybe sanity is overrated. She considers the relationship between hunger and insanity. She drops an almond down her shirt and doesn’t remove it. She is testing her limits.