There’s a deficit in the amount of attention I get, versus the amount I crave. Not so with my husband. The receptionist at the Y greets him by name. She tells him her college plans. At the Kirtan, an Indian violinist (they’ve never met) invites him to his next concert. “We need more people like you,” the musician says. I agree, but how the heck did the other guy know? At the department store, the clerk tells him about her son’s fifth deployment. Hey, what about me? Over here, wearing the sweet smile. I’m charming. Funny, too. You bet.
I can’t get enough attention. If I had my way, I’d get as much as my sweetie. No, as much as a movie star. No, as much as the Leader of the Free World. They’d discuss me on Fox and CNN.
On the other hand, a spotlight that bright would wither my fragile psyche.
Can’t get enough. Don’t want too much. When attention deficit disorder strikes again, I‘ll consider this: My poor mind will never find satisfaction.
I can’t get enough attention. If I had my way, I’d get as much as my sweetie. No, as much as a movie star. No, as much as the Leader of the Free World. They’d discuss me on Fox and CNN.
On the other hand, a spotlight that bright would wither my fragile psyche.
Can’t get enough. Don’t want too much. When attention deficit disorder strikes again, I‘ll consider this: My poor mind will never find satisfaction.