a slew of references

I’m already a redhead, so I’ve got that going for me at least.

I would consider changing my name to Francesca, but the doesn’t seem to suit me.  The only name that could possibly be more appropriate than Rachel Elizabeth is probably Pandora, and that’s either morbid or ironic (neither of which thrills me).

And though at the moment I’m curled in red satin pajamas on my couch instead of an attorney’s office, I’m feeling a bit like my dear Francesca.  Sniffling, and wondering if my nose is that cute red color that hers seems to turn in moments like these.  I doubt it though; I take some comfort in the fact that there’s no alimony.

Shall we christen it with cake and champagne?  One plane ticket to Italy.  Buying a villa in Tuscany is beginning to sound like a better and better idea every day.  and it is a terrible idea, so it might just work.  I confess I would do in in the hopes of meeting an epic blonde philosopher and a troop of eendearing polish workers to help me rebuild.  and though Marcello is a stallion I think I might pass him up; maybe it’s my age speaking but I’m not quite sure I want to swallow anymore of the gloomy half of epic <be careful what you wish for, they always say>

Still, I’ll buy the white dress and kick my feet on the back of a policeman’s scooter.  Maybe I’ll learn to cook like a Williams-Sonoma woman and help bring into the world a new piece of life; I’ll probably watch over two young lovers and marvel at the kind of uncomplicated passion that seems to bind them together.  and if I’m smart I’ll remember the words of the crazy blonde who purged her past (regrets are the past crippling you in the present) when she said “Never loose your childish innocence – it’s the most important thing.”  And though I’ve lost a little of that, a little of it has been shed by the very things that made me bright and alive so I can’t think its too much of a sin.

And maybe if I’m very lucky I may in time meet with another Mr. Collins.  or in this case, I may find myself dislodging this (writers)block because of it all and cry tears of joy with the Polish men that build the retaining wall  in my backyard. oh those crazy Polish men.

wish me luck