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Where I grew up, in the suburbs next door to the ghetto, you didn�t put your yard clippings in a trash can. You put them in a pile in front of your house, and a neat little scooper machine came and picked them up.

In the summer, the piles of grass would ferment, and smoulder, giving off some noxious fumes. Sometimes, when I was feeling devious... okay, most times... I would light the piles on fire with a magnifying glass. The same way we would light bugs and spiders on fire. They never really caught on fire, not like paper, they just kind of smoked.

They did something they would not do naturally, and that was the draw. Making things change.

The leaves are changing, and falling. People are raking them up, and putting them in those retarded jack-o-lantern bags. Everyone�s leaves are tunring but mine. Seriously. The trees in my yard are still green.

It makes me wonder what I�m going to have to do make this change. To do something. To get out. Bail. Escape.

I�m going to take a magnifying glass to myself later and see if I catch on fire.

. . .

I hate that I volunteer to do shit I hate, just because I�m either guilted into it, or, because I�m putting my money on someone else picking up my slack. I used to run my sister to and from softball, to and from day care, to and from, to and from. I haven�t had to do that since school ended in May.

Tomorrow, I have to take her to cheer leading camp. Me. The Queen of Bad Attitudes. The Anti Cheerleader.

Yeah. I�m pretty sure God hates me too.

3:31 p.m. - 2002-10-14


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