NOT (Good Times)
There’s something wrong with me. Deep inside. Down in my guts. I can feel it. It’s like an Alien is trying to claw out. Or maybe I’ve taken a bullet, and I’m laying here on the ground, bleeding out my least drop. And it hurts.
Now I must undergo alien-abduction-style tests. Needles. Probes. They must determine what lives inside of me, what’s festering beneath the surface. They must uncover the thing that keeps me in agonizing pain, the secret underlying my makeup.
I’m trying to bring this extended metaphor around to my writing career, but it’s not happening. Anyways, after my last post where Dawn bitched about her outfit, I put her in the dress she wears where she confronts the chief of her company’s biggest competitor. You can see how highly fashionable it is and how she feels about it.