a girl in a hotel bar

ignoring the slip of doubt in my throat i order the dirty martini to chase down two extra strength advil. my head throbs a staccato melody - a fireworks explosion after shotgun bursts in my tender brain.

i suck on an olive, tease the pimento out with my tongue.

the bartender asks me if i'm here on vacation. i shake my head. the smooth surface of the pimento glides a salty trail along the roof of my mouth. sharp liquid swells over my lips. i play with it before swallowing. my entire drink becomes an event - tip, swirl, coax, twirl, slide sweetly down. i'm having sex with icy vodka.

fox news is reporting the father of anna nicole's baby. i'm sickened by the media attention, the display, but i continue to stare at the tv. i'm not the person i used to be.

if i was another me, i'd talk to the bartender, the person deliberately sitting too close to me making loud comments and staring at me out of the corner of his eye. tonight, i ignore both.

the bartender refills my water. everything ok there, honey? i nod. how's your headache? fine, thank you.

i scribble words on a cocktail napkin.

animosity
thirsty
ostentatious
purpose
self
synthesis

the guy next to me laughs, tries to draw me into conversation.

it occurs to me that i never was an extrovert - my outgoing nature a grand performance with props and costumes. more often than not now i'm introverted - more true to myself, sometimes akward to others. i simply don't need approval, and don't desire small talk.

time is too important and i just want another fucking martini.