Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When I started this, I was sober. Half day tomorrow. No praying to be let off early. I thought and requested. Played by the rules, I am rewarded. I have no drugs left. I am unhappy about this. Thus, I am a drug addict. I am torn and unhappy. And, maybe a little bit happy, but it's always with that sour after taste, bitter left on my tongue. Much like drinking a beer. I just remembered I have alcohol. Good enough. Rum and coke. What's rum and coke to you? It will simply take me longer to get where I can get by other means. This is so I can sleep. These things, so I can pass out, instead of tossing and turning for hours. I held my cat like a baby. He lets me, sometimes. He bats my face with his paws, but doesn't use his claws. And I always feel like I haven't fucked up because I still have my cat. I still have my cat. I wish I knew you, too. I try to remember the things you said about me, because they're right, and I've been trying to find words to put to me that fit. You did such a good job. But, I can't remember. All day I can only think. And try to make jokes, and whine about how tired I am. I'm only tired at work. By the time this entry is over, I will be wrecked. The thing with the book I'm reading, the thing is it's all the words and all of the feeling I have, there, between covers. For an instant, I thought I could do it. I could, SHOULD, write a book. Everyone tells me to. Everyone tells me to paint. Just quit and paint. Well, fuck you very much. I don't have that luxury again. In the car, on my way home, I decided to be a gardener. I could go to school and maybe do landscaping. Be outside all day. Disappoint everyone. I'm good at that. Do they have jobs as Disappointments? Or better yet, a band named The Disappointments? Yes, yes. All I'd have to do is let everyone down. So, no. No law school. No fucking university where I'm another number. Because it was the distance that made me leave. Or, the lack of it. I wasn't enough to get any higher than a C in my painting class. All the women at work have breast implants and wear a size 4. They have perfectly manicured feet and hands, and perfectly messy bed head with streaks of 5 different colors they paid $150 for. The brothers always pull up on my left side, bumping, trying to get me to look. But, I'm the mislead once sophisticated, once high priority, woman who lets people buy her things. This is a system. And I don't fit. I lie all the time. But not to you. And, not in this. You should just know I can, and sometimes do. In your voice, there is something that reminds me of him that I haven't found in anyone but him since. It makes me want to get rid of the front, and take you in. Already you have more power than you should. 6:25 p.m. - 2003-06-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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