Gwyneth Paltrow was in the Army, and was involved in making some sort of recruitment film. I asked her when she was going to be discharged and she told me, In two weeks.
I was trying to get her to hire me as the writer for her recruitment film, setting up all sorts of insinuating lead-ins, but the resident Male Person, her manager or whomever, kept heading me off at the pass.
The three youngest children were RTT and two little boys who were born after him. One of them had just recently died, and I was trying to figure out why I felt absolutely nothing about his death when the people around me—most notably Ben—were eaten up by sorrow.
Mostly, I just wanted to get the hell out of the dilapidated group housing.
I stuck my head out of my burrow yesterday, and it was raining—not honest rain drops but pinpoint pricks of drizzle.
I suppose it wouldn’t have hurt me to tromp in that, but I thought, Fuck this.
I’ll try again today.
There are some blue patches in the sky. Crossposted from Dreamwidth.