bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

This will ultimately relate to Cereal.

October 18th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

It usually goes:

Loved One: Bekah, (really important question or comment involving our relationship, your spirituality, my future, your finances, my wants, your fears.)

Me: Yeah – just – I don’t know. We just – yeah. You know? It’s just like. (An elongated moment in which it might appear like I’m preparing to drop some serious profundity. But then:) ….Yeah.

Sometimes, particularly in large or quiet emotional moments, where I have something very important to express – I feel like I might know what it’s like to be in a coma, trapped in a bed, surrounded ┬áby people speaking at you and to you, while you lay there, wordlessly shouting at them through layers of yourself. It would seem that as I writer, I should be able to beautifully and wittily present arguments and make claims and deliver improvised but quotable monologues, but I just can’t. I usually feel like my brain is shoved full of old cereal and / or buried deep inside of a really old purification plant, my clear thoughts getting stuck in its pipes. I wonder if I might go back to kindergarden, or womb, or whenever it is that you learn how to connect deep thoughts to words, the kind that come out of your mouth, and just hang out there for a bit.

Posted in silly, the future, the whole world, the writing of drama plays, whining | No Comments »

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