I'm a writer. Therefore, I write. This is the plan.
And, while you are here, here is a little story:
12 Items Or Less
by Kathryn Koromilas
At the counter, I am counting--12-13-14-15--and she’s still piling them on. 16-17-18-19-20. Now, she’s run off. The cashier won't look at me but he rolls his eyes, at least. His apology for slowing me down in his fast lane. Not your fault, sweetie. I say. He can’t hear me because I can’t get more than a gurgle out because my lips have shriveled in disgust at the sheer magnitude of this injustice. She’s back. Forgot bread! She says, bouncing about in her tight pink leggings. Sorry! No, you’re not. 21! She can’t hear me, so I go on. With purpose now. Bring back basic mathematics tuition. Extension classes on sign comprehension. Social etiquette camp. Just for you, yoga pants. She spins around and bounces away, dragging the bagger behind her. I place exactly 12 items on the counter and wipe the saliva from the side of my mouth.