katinkab, a set on Flickr.
i posted some pics on flickr awhile back. sometimes, i forget they’re online.
my old flickr album
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She Talks to Cats
Today, I tell my hawk-eyed therapist that I have new idea for a novel, and I’ve been writing everyday.
It’s freaking brilliant. It’s a fantasy. You know, like sword and sorcery.
What kind of power does your hero have?
She talks to cats. I grin.
She talks to cats.
His unenthusiastic monosyllabic response makes me feel stupid. Maybe my idea isn’t so brilliant after all. My disappointment must have shown on my face, because he follows up with a smile.
And, of course, your hero is a beautiful, independent, strong, smart Filipina.
That goes without saying, I reply.
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Batsheba Hunter
“Batsheba Hunter.”
“Your name isn’t on the list,” the grim-faced bouncer said, drawing his fat stubby finger on the tablet as he pretended to search the guest list.
“Check again,” I said silkily. The prismatic curved horns on my temples were starting to itch. I was going to kill Fatex if he’d neglected to fill out the requisition form again. Not only wouldn’t I get into the Firehouse, but I’d have to put the drinks on my tab. The cocktails in this particular shitty nightclub cost fifty dinero apiece. I never carried more than three hundred when I was working.
“Look, hunter, you’re gonna have to find another dive to give tail.”
Psycho Babble
Noreen has a crush on Dr Novak, her psychiatrist and resident physician, while her new roommate Clancy has a crush on Johnny Depp.
“I have a better chance of getting Johnny Depp than you have of getting Dr Novak,” Clancy says their first night together.
“I don’t want to get Dr Novak,” Noreen adamantly replies.
“As least, Johnny wouldn’t get in trouble if I got with him. Novak could lose his license if he slept with you.”
“I don’t want to sleep with him.”
“Yes, you do. Who wouldn’t want to? He’s cute.”
Noreen giggles like a little girl. “Yeah, he is.”
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A Normal Life
He comes to my room just after breakfast and sits beside me on my bed.
“Here’s what we think is wrong with you,” he says.
“Sometimes children in troubled families develop coping skills to help them survive, but when they become adults those coping skills don’t work the same way anymore.”
I stare at the curtain separating my bed from my roommate’s. My fingers tremble and cover my chin, lips, jaw.
“I can’t remember how to be an adult. I’m scared I won’t be able to write again.”
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