Me turn in book

Me turn in book yesterday.
Me write round clock to finish book.
Me cry sometimes and ask book why it want hurt me so bad.
Book flip me finger and laugh.
Book mean.
Tell editor book be in hands by 3:00 pm Friday.
Me finish book while standing with coat on at 2:59 pm.
Then me pick up boy from school and he say, “Mommy, why you have haunted look and mutter to self? You scare me, Mommy.”
Mommy cry and pet his head. “Stay with me, Scarecrow. You my favorite.”
Boy ask for playdate at other people’s house.
Book finished. Now words gone from head.
Bye-bye words.
Brain feel broken as heart after seventh grade dance.
Be happy, brain, I say. Book done!
Today we get do laundry and clean house! Hooray!
Brain scowl.
Here is heaping plate of I Hate You, brain say. You like fries with that?
Brain is real wit.
Stomach say, “Here is picture of insides. No, is not Long Island Expressway at rush hour. Is your insides. Eat right bitch.”
Me giggle and pour more coffee.
That what antacid for.
Me feel giddy with freedom.
Then me remember me have short story and readers circle questions due next week.
Me drink Maalox with straw.
Is faster that way.

But me celebrate some.
Me see screening of this:
Is best movie ever.
Is so lovely. Charming. Funny. Smart. Like smart people’s brains that have good words and no break.
Me likee so much.
Even made broken brain happy.
You no like this movie, you no have heart.
You go see movie when it open next weekend, you be happy, too.
Then read fabulous book by and
Will make your heart run like wolf. Before Sarah Palin shoot it.
Nick and Norah equal my happy place.

Electric Six videos on YouTube also my happy place. make me watch.
She see me rocking in chair.
Making soft, strangled cry noises.
Calling computer “Electronic crack monkey from hell.”
See me alarm who simply trying to write—is that so wrong?
No do weird stuff, Mojo say. Freak us out. Watch this instead.
Me do.
Slap leg in laughter.
Watch over and over and over.
Me download all Electric Six songs.
Call myself “Dance Commander” and throw self on couch.
Strain leg muscle. Wince and grab heating pad.
Me feel deep connection to Dick Valentine.
Stalk him via Google.
Him know nothing about me, but me now know lots about him.
Google fun.

Book is finished.
Me stop thinking now.
Thinking overrated.
So is clean house.
Me play Dance Commander instead.

P.S. You think it funny me talk this way, you must read funniest book ever:
He stone-cold genius. Me Google him, too.

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