It is always when I want to write something truly touching and multidimensional, with layers upon layers of meaning that will bring profound understanding and tears of exhilaration in the reader’s eyes, that I get stuck. All the serious thinking that sounded sooo intriguing last night on top of the toilet, looks absolutely rubbish on the page.
I mean the vampire Veronique who sucked the blood both from the perverted motel receptionist and her jerk blind date? It first appeared in my head a couple of nights ago, while I was taking a short break in the bathroom from all that intense IM-ing. (don’t ask who, because I have absolutely no idea). I could vividly see her dark hair and ample white chest while she was taking a shower and stalking her victim at the same time. All this while I was trying to pluck my own eyebrows and my dad was commenting: “You don’t need to do that thing, because I gave you the good eyebrows!”. And it is true, he did. But as my desire for plucking vanished, so did my lovely Veronique and her delicious dinner. It still gives me a zinger here and there but CAN’T WRITE A THING!
This morning, I had another one while putting on my makeup: a woman is made uncomfortable by the intensity of somebody’s attention during her presentation. He turns into…and that was it. It was gone, pouff, like a little uphill wind. All the perversions I could throw at it were previously described elsewhere, and there was no mystery, no drama, no “I loved you but you burned my good underwear and strangled Polly with them” kind of thing.
And now, as the snow stubbornly sticks to the naked branches of unprotected trees (I used to get A in composition, and some habits die very hard) my brain is giving up for good and it is telling my eyes to reread something funny. Maybe the captions of the Spanish telenovelas that have my mom tearing up. Porque Armandillo non me amas mas, porque? Besame un otra ves.
And Armandillo looks on silently at the multilayered Carmensita, while Concepsion is lurking behind the bushes and also weeping: Porque Armandillo, porque?
Nah, I’m gonna go to sleep.