Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Everything is Coming Up Roses

I'm writing a story about a girl named Rose who drinks rose water because her name is Rose (there's more to it than that, of course - well, only slightly more, really); so now I'm all about rosy beverages, as evidenced above. For the past three days I have selected my wine based solely on whether or not it had roses on the label. And I tasted rose water. Regrettably so, I must add. That shit is worse than drinking perfume. One sip takes you to a place where roses are toxic and not delicate, and someone is there with you forcing you to huff the wretched rose aroma until it suffocates you to death; and then you take that nauseating stench with you in the back of your throat as you ascend to heaven, but God and the angels end up redirecting you to hell because your concentrated rose breath gave them headaches. The taste of this shit was powerfully bad enough to make me consider not finishing the story I'm writing. It no longer seemed believable that anyone in their right mind would drink this putrid beverage (Rose isn't actually in her right mind [are any of my characters?], but you get what I'm saying). So I had to go back and edit the story so that she makes her own rose water which is very, very soft and sweetened with honey.

I will never finish the bottle of rose water in my fridge. Never. Never never never. The simple sight of it was making me sick yesterday because I was PMSing really bad. But that goddamn bottle will sit there, front and center, on our top shelf, to keep me inspired, until this story is out of my system. Or until I dare my husband to chug it with vodka or something