i want to go to there; {open}

[rita elaine monzano]

so excuse me forgetting, but these things i do
you see i forgot if they're green or they're blue

Rita was taking a break from shopping. Various shopping bags surrounded her feet as she sat on a bench by the escalators. She had gotten a burger and had eaten half of it when the urge to write came over her. So she had basically abandoned her food, hunched over her little black journal, writing with gumption. Every so often she would pick up her burger and half-hazardly take a single bite before putting it back down. It was a wonder she hadn't gotten any food on herself yet.

It might be a little strange to be sitting in the middle of a very large shopping center with your head in a book, but when the urge hit Rita, she had to drop everything and write. That's why she carried around her journal everywhere with her, and it was also why she went through lots of journals. Even this fairly new one was filling up fast. She would write about anything, really. Sometimes she wrote about her feelings and opinions, like her own personal blog. Other times she wrotes little snippets of stories. She wanted to be a writer someday, and she felt the best way to make that happen was to come up with as many ideas as possible. One of them would have to work.

Unfortunately, her little snippets never ended up getting very far. Rita's mind was constantly all over the place, and she had little patience and even less of an attention span. She got bored rather easily, and that didn't apply to just stories, either. The wall color for her room, for example, and the kind of cereal she ate in the morning, as well as fashion. Which was why she was at the shopping center at all. She had woken up that morning with exceptional spunk and purpose: deciding to blow last week's paycheck on new clothes. She deemed her closet 'full of crap', and headed here, where she proceeded to pick out things on the basis of 'would this fit in with the rest of the crap in my closet?' If the answer was no, she almost always purchased it.

Consequently, she had spent much more than she had originally intended. But Rita wasn't one of those people who stressed about money. No, she didn't have a lot of it, and yes, she probably should stress about it a little, but she just didn't. Going a bit over budget wasn't going to put her in the poorhouse. And anyway, it wasn't like she couldn't return every single thing she bought. Which she probably would. Already she had forgotten about nearly half of the things down there in those bags, and that number was going up as she focused more and more on her writing.

Except, Rita was starting to lose it, the urge. She was writing yet another beginning to a story. She hated beginnings, because she would peter out about halfway through, like she was doing right now. Evidence of this was her frequent crossing out and shakes of her head, along with an increase in burger-bites. She started looking up more, staring off into space ahead of her, thinking about every word. Soon, she gave up. She closed the book, slightly venemously, and traded it in for the rest of her meal, watching the people go up and down the escalators.

anyway, the thing is, what i really mean
your's are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen

`word count 561; `tags open; `outfit simple simple simple; `lyrics your song by elton john; `notes i like using love songs on rita's posts. it's so ironic. and she's really starting to sound like myself, i need to ease up with that. :] oh and this is really ick, too. AND the post title is from the tv show 30 rock. i don't really have that bad of grammar!