Thoughts I’ve had while working at the front desk of my library branch because if modern and post-modern literature can get away with stream of consciousness run-on sentences then I should too.

  • I really like the wrinkles on that lady’s chest… Does that make me a pervert? It wasn’t her breasts I saw so maybe not… but it was that area between the neck and the breasts where I swear the body stores pain before radiating it out to the appropriate body parts. I should google what that area is… writers should know what things are when they write about them. I’m a bad writer…
  • OF COURSE THE FRENCH HAD THE WORD FOR IT! THEY HAVE WORDS FOR EVERYTHING! Stupid fancy French and their lovely language. The area is called the décolleté. You’re welcome future people of the internet or my best friend Nikki who reads these and calls me later to laugh about my poems.
  • Anyway her décolleté looked beautiful to me, but not in that weird sexual way people think of way too much. It looked like cracked dried earth that I grew up around during hot California summers. Like how it was thirsty for rain and had all these fault lines and cracks and those cracks looked like they have seen many Sundays and I just loved those wrinkles.
  • She has no idea how beautiful she is…probably because people don’t tell elderly people that they are beautiful.
  • Why don’t we?
  • Is it because there is a social contract that we’re suppose to abide by that says it is creepy to compliment people on their décolleté?
  • I’m a cis woman too so why would it be creepy? Social norms are boring and annoying.
  • Another lady came in. I didn’t realize she had a hump on her back until she left. I didn’t stare and just noted in but I don’t say that to pat myself on the back like “Good job Rose, you weren’t an asshole.” No, its because I get so anxious about doing my job right and getting her holds altogether that I didn’t even register anything besides her face. Her face was shaped like an upside down tear drop and her too had wrinkles. Wrinkles are beautiful.
  • Who decided wrinkles were not beautiful? They were liers or weirdos. Bring on the wrinkles.
  • I should write these thoughts down… Maybe after reading Jenny Lawson’s newest book.
  • My god she is relatable. I hope she has all the sunshine she needs and that more fat tail-less rats find her husband so that they can adopt them.
  • I doubt she will ever read this but Mrs. Lawson you rock.
  • If you are named Mrs. Lawson but are not the author of Broken in the Best Possible Way, then you probably rock too.
  • Surnames are weird… many people can have them and trace back their heritage through a bunch of dudes with the same last name…
  • Like a weird relay race of genes and names and government issued ids.
  • Or a conga line.
  • I like conga lines.
  • My right hand that I write with feels numb… I should google this…
  • Good news, probably not a heart attack, bad news might have to talk to my doctor about this issue…
  • … Insert Florence and the Machines song Hiding on loop here …
  • I need to poop.

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