The clock is ticking, the years are passing, and it\’s still all the same. Nothing\’s changed, not really.
To hell with poverty! You know the rest, or at least, you should.
I need a girl friend. Or many girl friends. I miss late night gush fests over Natalia\’s posts. I miss giggling and philosophizing (not a word) with eleven year old mini-Maude. And there are pages upon pages of things I want to do, to share, but with the lasses and not the lads. More and more I am feeling as though something has been distinctly missing in my life over the years, and that something is solid female friendships.
I want to sew and run through Pittsfield with Bumble. I want to be in an all girl music power house of sound. I want to bitch and primp with Buffy. I want to go sex and music shopping with Les. I want to be active again and talk into the wee hours of the morning on everything from menstrual politics to gimp discrimination to Polish hip hop with Natalia. I want to go out to Butler\’s Orchard with Karen and talk crazy talk and pick pumpkins. I want to be artsy with Elizabeth. I want to curl up with some Irish coffee and some good old fashioned twang and talk nonsense with Jennifer. I want to do a zine with Anna. I want to do kickboxing with Alexsis. I want I want I want. I want to be able to pick up the phone and make plans and have them happen as if it were the most natural thing in the world, instead of crazy shit always happening and plans never coming together and biding my time on the sidelines, feeling more and more out of the loop, just like back in grade school.
God, I have to find a way to change things, really change them. Not just hope and dream and wish and make false starts and feeble, scared attempts, only to retreat and hide in panic, fear, and shame when they don\’t work out, which they never seem to anymore. As \”A\” says, I just can\’t get ahead. But that\’s my own damn fault. I guess what it boils down to is that despite succeeding at completely hiding it on the outside, I am still that awkward, painfully shy girl who is afraid of embarrassment, failure, and feeling ill too randomly to make concrete plans. Still the girl who trembles at the idea of a \”schedule,\” but who desperately wants one. And still too worn out to really take life on. Happy healthiness, thousands below the poverty level, no future, no goals, nothing to do, or sick, aching, suicidal, hermit worker bee who sleeps every hour she\’s not killing herself with thirty hours of minimum wage which aren\’t enough to live on, anyway? Fuck, fuck, fuck, I just can\’t figure it out.
Motivate, motivate with the sound of the 808.