piece 2

I shook and trembled.

I nervously laughed at the immigration officer when she cautioned me about renewing my passport. I laughed at the light fixtures too. Then I went home and laughed even more at the stuck sink. Finally, sitting by myself at the cafe, waiting for the curators to show up, I laughed out loud at the feeble loveplay of a couple I was eavesdropping on.

Then the curators showed up and I was forced to show them the piece.

I went to the bathroom.

I tried to rinse a wine spot off my cashmere cardigan and made a right pimple out of it.

I went back and the two were sitting and grinning. We talked a bit about the piece and I feel vaguely relieved, though I think one of them is starting to catch on that I'm a bit of a punk with my work, and not at all "serieuse." Actually, she's wrong. I'm dead serious. I'm dead serious at saying what I want to say and how I want to say it. I just can't say it any other way.

Oh god... I'm hopeless.