Oh my. Lovely lovely shivers of dread and anticipation. Moremoremore gimme more, please ma'am.

Deena? Your 'escape' drabble upstream just about undid me, woman, especially knowing it was based in truth.

Deb, if you need another beta, feel free to fling it my way.

And what are the odds we can get you back to DC for a book signing?

Edited to say profile addy is good.

My response to this week's challenge:

Reinvention

Each drink erases a little more of who you think I am. These are your expectations, not mine. I suppose it had to happen at some point. I can't be the goody two-shoes anymore. Who really wants the responsibility anyway?

The carbonated tonic water tickles the back of my throat, and the cheap vodka that is the reason for consuming the otherwise tasteless beverage blazes a trail right to the pit of my stomach. It sits, waiting for the right moment to addle my brain and override the behaviour ingrained in me since birth. My patience is soon rewarded. The alcohol has worked its magic. My 8 AM class loses all meaning, and I'm convinced that the Economics test will be a piece of cake. Nevermind that I neglected to study the last half of the material. Details no longer matter. It's all about what I want now. I don't have to be me anymore.

*****
That's not quite the whole story. I don't have to be me, but quite frankly, I want to be. The artificially induced makeover rapidly lost its luster. I don't exist in a vacuum, and my repudiation of everything that comprises who I am hurt me more than I care to admit. Your expectations turned out to be mine after all, but I needed to escape so I could discover it for myself.

125 words. For some reason, the theme didn't work its way into my brain till today:

Dogs

The dogs are barking. They are under the table, squashed into a pair of scuffed wingtips. Their owner is pouring himself a drink, gin the old way.

Gin quaffed, television turned to cable shout-news, the evening is settling in and there is no reason not to set the dogs free. Heel-toe, heel-toe, and the wingtips clatter across the linoleum. With boozy, theatrical elaboration, toes grasp at the opposite ankle and peel a moist sock down, awkward at the joint, inside-out as the mushroomy foot emerges.

Bare toes switch up to the besocked ankle. Granddad has forgotten he no longer lives alone. His granddaughter lopes into the house, bright-faced, long-limbed, and drops her keys on the table. “What stinks?” she asks, loud over the shout-news, confounding in her adroit gracelessness.

Wait, people will read and give feedback? Would anyone mind doing this for me? I'm not looking for an ego stroke, I would like honest, even harsh criticism, so I can make sure I'm not an a mediocrity track.

Would anyone be willing to give one essay a read and give me the thorough thrashing of my life, if it so deems a thrashing?

Allyson, sure. I would be wrecked without my beta readers. Send it on if you want private, which if you're looking to publish later is the best way (avoiding copyright and previously-pubbed questions).

Be an honor, Allyson. Profile addy's good.

Allyson, I'd be happy to. You can shoot it to my profile addy if you're interested.

I will happily read anything Allyson writes.

Also, when I start up my own cable channel and sign Firefly as my star attraction, I plan to beg Allyson on bended knee to herd writers and TV executives for me.

(I plan to tempt her with a fabulous salary)

I'd love to if you need one more. Profile addy is good.