Thanks Crazy Art Teacher for sharing your discomfort.
Sometimes your hopes for the future just get away from you.
October 12, 2017. New Jersey. Teacher’s parking lot. At a middle school.
Sometimes your half and half just gets away from you and onto the desk and your pants and your handbag and your floor but not into your coffee cup.
May 11, 2017. Maryland.
Sometimes when you move apartments the person you were and the person you are just get away from each other.
May 14, 2017. Maryland.
Sometimes in the college parking lot your salad toppings just get away from you.
April 7, 2017. Maryland.
Sometimes when you rely on cliché marketing language when trying to sell pillows shaped like a bowel movement your awareness of double entendre just gets away from you.
March 13, 2017. Maryland.
Sometimes in the sad, empty Sears® at the sad, empty mall, your sad, empty orange Fanta® cans and Chile Limón flavored Doritos® Dinamita® wrapper just get away from you.
March 15, 2017. Portland, Oregon.
Sometimes when the barista is already stoned at 7 in the morning and has to ask you three times what you ordered and if she rang it up already (regular coffee; yes)–then charges you twice for the same beverage and has to get help from a coworker, then asks again what you ordered–you are not surprised when her spelling gets away from her even after you spell your name out loud.
March 17, 2017. Portland, Oregon.