Truth be told, I'm so sick of whining about being sick or sad, or 'not feeling so hot', that I could die. It's not as though those are the only parts of my life. Maybe in the moment, they certainly feel that way. I should update this blog somewhere other than bed, really.

This weekend, I guess I'll be the 'sad girl on the ferry' when I go home for Thanksgiving. You know what I mean; you notice a lone figure standing on the deck of the ferry, smoking cigarettes. She has windswept hair and sad eyes. Maybe her little dog is pulling on his leash to go elsewhere....but that's where she stands, looking out onto the painfully blue water. Maybe she's in deep thought about her lost love, or the fact she can't cook. Or perhaps, she is mourning the fact she never bought those trendy Gucci sunglasses at the Half-off store and now has to face the others on the boat with bare eyes. And you know just by her luggage that she must feel somewhat cosmopolitan for appearing at her family home in time for the holidays. Able and eager to leave after dinner. Slick sunglasses or not.

Yep. I'll play that part in public just because maybe I have nothing else to do. The only thing that sucks about it is they do not allow smoking on deck anymore. Must be all the cigarette butts that are floating in Lake Huron. Or maybe the seagulls finally got together and made a stink about the tainted air they have to deal with as they fly in tandem with the boat as it crosses from Tobermory to Manitoulin Island.

We call it a boat, not a ferry. Unsophisticated. But I don't think the locals care. Or the tourists, for that matter.

Nuts man, we're all just nuts. Excuse me, I must go and listen to Bruce Springsteen now.

Labels: acting, Bruce Springsteen, family, Ferry, Gish, holidays, music, New York, smoking