In studio thoughts
Hungry like a headache, dressed like a hobo, my lips purse themselves intrinsically, rubbing to make sure they are still balmy. My curls escape my beanie. Chipped black nail polish, drawing interiors, placing the prune spice scent in the henna shaped in a swallow on my wrist. Swallows always return home even though they travel thousands of miles away. Accidentally, unintentionally smudging the interior I drew. Remembering thinking to myself “practice makes better”. Waiting for the sun to peek through. Hunched back, relaxed legs, tensed shoulders feeling the ache coming on. Watching as the clouds win the battle with the sun, trying to ignore the pressure on my bladder. Blocking out the construction noises. My Deltoid muscle starts its ache I felt coming on while I scribble. Tugging on a lock, hearing the clack of fingernails on the keys of a laptop keyboard. I am writing with a pencil on a discarded piece of cardboard. It runs out and I move on to a stray piece of paper I find on my desk. His voice shaky, a little uneven, no-one registers that they notice this. Rolling back on my office chair wondering why I even care about this detail. My back aches from hunching, ignoring the spicy prune smell from the henna on my wrist that woke me up from a nap on my desk a few minutes before. Remembering I need the loo. Wondering why I need it when I went maybe forty-five minutes before. Noticing how smooth this pencil feels on paper. Trying not to think about anything I am supposed to do. I give my deltoid a break and unhunch my shoulders and back to think about drinking something like coffee that might help cure my need to scrawl my messy mind out on this already used page.