My Inner Child Is Not Pottytrained

i feel like making jazz hands at the world. jazz hands!

i feel better about things. sometimes resignation is a form of bliss because you can go back to working on your origami mobile. and buy a few special shiny colored papers to make yourself feel better. i used to hoard origami paper when i was little. i wouldn’t let anyone fold it. i wanted to keep it pure and square and unwrinkled forever. this didn’t make me a popular kid hoarding all this perfectly usable paper.

virgin paper

remember when you were little you had all these projects like origami mobiles and clay dioramas? what i wouldn’t give to make someone a clay diorama. idea!

click! except it might be really morbid like all these angry elves in a forest about to lay siege to a village of trabbits (tricked out rabbits). don’t ask me. the subconscious filter is not working properly today.

the point is this morning on the subway i couldn’t stop making an angry face. a real clenched up constipated look. and i look up and make eye contact with this young businessman and he kind of makes this question-mark face at me like “what’s with the grimace, bubby?” so i immediately changed to a less severe contortion. it seemed to calm the both of us down. thank goodness for that.

p.s. my improv class is the most awesome funpartytrain ever. yesterday we practiced being super happy, super sad, super angry and super scared. i think i threw my back out.

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