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I was on hold for forty-five minutes today.  I didn't get anywhere with the story, although I'm starting to get a feel for the plot (I've learned the redhead's name - Vivian - and I know that she's looking for her younger sister, whose name might be Claire if that name was in use at the time, and who is supposed to have eloped with some damn fool who thinks he's the next Clyde Barrow).  There's something about being on hold with that particular insurance company that makes me fall asleep.  Other companies don't make me feel so sleepy even when I'm on hold for an hour, but even just five minutes with that one gets me drifting in and out of consciousness, floating on fever-dreams that feel like waking life. I remember one image from the drifting: a piece of paper on my desk contained a print-out of some song lyrics; the song (which sounded like it was by the Cure) was playing on the radio as I read them; the main line of the song was "letters go like dragonflies in your beauty."  I moved the paper aside and beneath it was a red and blue embossed plastic PI license in the name of Rodney Peanut; the photograph was of a banana.

After that I jerked myself awake and kept myself that way by sketching a thing.



As my "Hee-Haw"/country costume, I wore dark jeans, a tooled leather belt bearing Justin's giant 1976 KEEP ON TRUCKIN buckle, Justin's beat-up old boots, a green plaid flannel shirt tucked in, and Justin's white straw Resistol with the extremely bent brim.  I look like Dwight Yoakam.

(no subject)

Actually, her name can't be Vivian, because hot chicks named Vivian who have crazy younger sisters have been done before.