thewordofweb: (dressed down: by ?)
There's a smile to my face that seems brighter than it's been in days. In weeks, to be completely honest. There's even a bounce in my step as I go about the boat, equipping the mast with sails and getting ready to take a short jaunt out to deeper waters and put the anchor down to observe the currents and hopefully find a shark or two if I can, fishing with the most primitive of tools.

Hell, I even whistle as I go about my work, white t-shirt stretched across my shoulders and khaki shorts setting off a bland ensemble as I crouch down and start to cinch the rope looser so I can do something with it.

For some reason, all I can think about are things going my way. Liebgott. Joe Liebgott. How could I ever think I could have someone like him and be right? This place might be a torture to most, but to me, it's a godsend. I grin to myself before leaning over and going back to it, a little tune from Marlena on my lips.


Jan. 21st, 2009 09:52 pm
thewordofweb: (GIRL: lounge)
By the time I make it off the boat and breakfast has settled in my stomach, I feel as though my shoulders are inches lower than ever and that regular sex could be something akin to cocaine in terms of addictive drugs. In a pair of khaki shorts and a paisley button down tied to make sure it isn't too big, I find the swing on the gazebo with my charcoal pencil and begin to lose myself in the sketches I've been compiling since I arrived.

I feel almost as if I'm stuck like this, that three days going on possibly four is an omen that I might be stuck forever, but with the remnant of touches all over my body, I'm hard-pressed to care and so I sketch and write and bow my head to my shoulder as I do, lost in my own little world.


thewordofweb: (Default)

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