they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
blackboard+ today's assignment = free write. + March 26. 2002 = 11:05 p.m.
+ part 1. at work, nobody can stop talking about how bad gwyneth looked. go home early as there is little to attend to. way home and think of celebs i would run away with: beck, giovanni ribisi, ed norton, tom ford, balthazar getty. think of laundry but instead crawl into apt34�s wide bed. the light is gray and the window is cracked open. bare feet on top of sheets and down comforter. with pillows propped against wall for support. home early from work is a nice state. pretend i am hiding out . brought home lucinda rosenfield�s what she saw... and finished it in one sitting. i am not sure about the last eight+ pages. follow main protagonist through failed relationships. watch sex and compliments and needs wage war with society�s absurd romantic notions. feel love + relationships + human contact to be a flawed, feeble thing & then... those last eight+ pages. i am not so sure that it was the climax i was expecting. ?!? am i to assume this last relationship is as doomed and frail as previous relations... OR am i supposed to feel as though there is always THE ONE. am not so sure that the eight+ pages can convince me. mostly i am left with the not-so-fleeting thought that: we are so fucked up. all of us. finish book and wander apt34. listen to radio because sometimes cds make me feel lonely. there are slippery red pkgs containing thin condoms on the last shelf of my bookcase. something sexy about them, and yet, i think i am allergic to latex. think about how i have always wanted to smoke cigarettes. appealing due to their relief of strained nervous complications that arise when in social scenes: �what do with m y hands?� but hate the taste of them. bare trees and wet streets = view from third floor. am 25 and have no real career. my Fictional Life does not win Connect Four when playing against Reality. character flaw, one of mine. one reason,also, i think, i prefer the meeting of new people as opposed to the upkeep of friendships - am fond of rattling off facts & figures re: my fictional present & future. some mornings, as of late, wake up with a profound sense of loss. feel: wary & weary & worn out in re: to the world at large, esp. my personal finances. over breakfast on sunday, my father correctly (though i hate to admit it) postulated that if i put myself on a budget i would feel much better. about everything. sunday night and i marveled at my fondness for boyfriend whilst watching him in an old halloween video. he : dressed as air traffic controller in a puffy jacket. felt as though: loved him and wanted to be near him in the past tense. and it was painful. it felt like an unattainable thing : yet another fiction in my life. truth of the matter: i am afraid i prefer to be the �unattainable girl� as there are no expectations. you can waltz into a room, capture attention, and fuck - do whatever you want with it. instead, now, stand next to beau at crowded bar. ultra / cool. hip_ rock.star. beautiful >chick leans towards my boyfriend and sends him into something of a swoon. he clasps his elbows and grins - a huge grin. she says: i s this s your girlfriend? in such a fashion that it makes me never want to be anyone�s girlfriend. ever again. she makes it sound like something befitting to six year olds in sand boxes. i turn away and hold court with ben�s band mate. he asks: are you just going to let that girl flirt with your boyfriend? what can i do, i answer. trying to be very fl i pp ant. what can you do? that attention is nice. and it drove me crazy when my ex-boyfriend would pull on my arm or fume whilst i was being flirted up. it�s all okay as long as he is going home with me, right? the radio plays waterloo sunset. plays song that goes i don�t stand a chance in this world. bouquets : anemones, peonies, ranunculus. something in me: crushed. when i open my eyes in his bed, he is smiling at me. tells me i am beautiful , esp. when you are not aware that i am looking at you. part 2. dinner with dan. it is rain and it is overcast and wet sidewalks and shortcuts. i ring #2 and we are silly from the start. bottle of chianti and salad with roasted red peppers. sweet potato ravioli and conversations re: thestate of t h ings. __ dan is transfixed with nyc. we talk neighborhoods and streets and crepe places and this & that places. walk home & every time : fall in love with the slope of the hill. dark pavement & puddles reflecting street lights. me, i am the girl with the flimsy umbrella. i am the girl with the fancy fictions. i am the girl who likes to pretend her heart is made of multi-colored construction paper. cut it up into shapes that please the eye. rubber cement and glue things together. i am i am i am. i am
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