Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore


Fuckin’ Micah.

Here I was, sitting by myself in an almost-too-small, almost clean one-bedroom apartment cursing his name over and over in my head as I took another drag of yet another cigarette.  I’m not sure why I chose to blame him for having taken up smoking again, but somehow I had managed to come up with the reasoning that we had ended poorly, he left, and I smoked.  It seemed to make sense at the time, even if four months had gone by.

It’s not that I had given up smoking for Micah.  Granted, I was able to successfully (ha!) quit during the time in which we were cohabitating, but I didn’t do it for him.  Hell, I didn’t even do it for me.  I think I had just needed to be in control of something…anything.

I glanced at the clock, suddenly realizing how late it was getting.  My little mind games had cost me a precious twenty minutes – time which should have been spent getting ready.  I snubbed out the rest of my cigarette.  I only had fifteen minutes to finish up and get downtown to meet Bachelor 2 of my own, sad little real-life edition of Blind Date.  And now I had to tackle eyeliner application on a shaky nic-fit.

…fuckin’ Micah.


September 9, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

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