February 12, 2003
Fuck Me
If I didn't feel so disgusted I could write the entry about the moon being half of a cookie and Mike threatening to take advantage of me in the Waffle House parking lot. I can tell you that the cement was even colder than the air, and, right now, that is certainly saying something.
There is a song. Well, there are several songs, as per usual, but there is this one. Life could be a dream, sweetheart...? Shoo-doop, shoo-doop? I'm sure you've heard it.
Well, life is alternately yes and achingly no.
Maybe I am conventional. Maybe that's what makes living here so difficult. I don't want to be swallowed up in this sameness. I can't bear to be like them. Cute shoes evade me when they are on their feet, and I continue to wander around in my filthy blue vans, begging for a wash, begging for retirement, begging for something I can't give, my feet can barely fill these.
I can't afford to buy new shoes just like I can't afford to buy a new life.
I have a newspaper. With my pink highlighter I mark vainly those apartments with a good location and a rent below 400 a month. A bonus if the utilities are included.
Will I ever be able to leave? Will I ever be able to make 600+ dollars a month? Enough to cover insurance and rent and tuition and gas and car payment and credit card and food and laundry detergent and dishes and hair products and birthday presents and CD-RW's and cable and telephone and printer ink?
I want to cry for my dependence. Everywhere I am I am stifled, I am heavy and ill-suited. I don't make enough money to get away. I'm caught in a trap that's suddenly lost all comfort.
I think about dropping out of college and writing. I think about being poor. I think about never accomplishing anything. The way things are now... I can't bear it. I don't want to. There's a reason I skip class.
I love to learn but I believe that the price I am paying now is far more than just that of tuition fees.
I feel miserable and am not all up for dancing. I want a nap but Meghan will come back all too soon and get on the phone and babble like a five-year-old at her boyfriend and write stupid messages on the dry erase board and sit in silence always in silence that I get in the car and send Massive Attack spinning violent and heavy into the small space just to fill up all my empty spaces that this lifestyle is creating.
I'm tired.
astera at 11:37 a.m.