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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

but then I didnt write about writing.

In between cutting imporatnt cords and sanitizing and pushing couches around, I wrote some. I bounced around my email accounts, considered picking up my screenplay, edited my short story from last week, and researched London Black Cabs.

I went back to my favorite Burger Joint tonight and TheWaiter was my waiter again. I felt my throat tighten as he tried to chat. There it is, making a sneak attack, my food thing. For Pete’s Sake. Can’t I not have the food thing anymore? Can’t I please go two full years without the food thing?

No. Apparently not. Fair warning to anyone who might go out to dinner with me. The Food Thing is back and ready to attack at inopportune moments. Grrr.

With regards to The Waiter, I said nothing particularly witty or any great comment about how I enjoyed the complete mortification I was dealt by him two weeks ago.

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