Edith Piaf - In one week I'll be one-month sober
I am drowning in lusting-over-the-anticipation-of-photo-copies. I want this zine to be over and done with, already. I love photo-copies. I do not know why. I'm not even 100% sure of the content, really. I want this to be finished and sitting pretty in envelopes equipped with stamps. I want to only have to wait for single dollar bills in the mail and then scribble addresses and toss these puppies in the mail. I want distros to write about me. I want to be able to write hard enough to devour people. I want them to get words stuck in their heads. I want my zine to make people wear prom dresses to the grocery store. I want to dress up. I want to spend my whole morning after I wake up sipping tea, waiting for a telephone call, and typing.
I went to the ice cream parlour and dropped off my application. My father said to look for the woman laughing the most, chubby. When I walked in, I see all of this neon ice cream and only one customer and everything is nice and pastel and new-feeling and this woman is laughing with every person she encounters (the old woman buying a cake, the girl working in the back of the store, me) and she has this Southern accent that seems so warm that it might as well be a Northern accent. This sounds wrong but it's right. She writes down when I'll be able to work and tells me I probably have a job but she's calling tomorrow to give me the scoop. ICE CREAM HUMOR. Actually she didn't say she'd "give me the scoop" but that's what she IMPLIED and ... oh shucks.
My hours might be "the suck" for a little bit - 4pm-11pm, which is when I usually spend time with The Boy (mostly every other day or so) and I can't really spend time with him before or after those times - but it'll be worth it because before I know it I'll be driving myself around and then I can work mornings instead. And we can go places together. And I will have money to save up so we can leave North Carolina together for weekend adventures. And oh.
Previously, everything I got worked up over [job at the school - being an office girl - getting my permit the first time around - traveling directly after graduating high school - opening up a checking account - you get the point] didn't pull through, but lately everything seems to be fitting together. It sounds lame and quaint, but, you know, I'm 18 years-old and maybe right now I just need lameness and quaintness.
I'm excited.
I went to the ice cream parlour and dropped off my application. My father said to look for the woman laughing the most, chubby. When I walked in, I see all of this neon ice cream and only one customer and everything is nice and pastel and new-feeling and this woman is laughing with every person she encounters (the old woman buying a cake, the girl working in the back of the store, me) and she has this Southern accent that seems so warm that it might as well be a Northern accent. This sounds wrong but it's right. She writes down when I'll be able to work and tells me I probably have a job but she's calling tomorrow to give me the scoop. ICE CREAM HUMOR. Actually she didn't say she'd "give me the scoop" but that's what she IMPLIED and ... oh shucks.
My hours might be "the suck" for a little bit - 4pm-11pm, which is when I usually spend time with The Boy (mostly every other day or so) and I can't really spend time with him before or after those times - but it'll be worth it because before I know it I'll be driving myself around and then I can work mornings instead. And we can go places together. And I will have money to save up so we can leave North Carolina together for weekend adventures. And oh.
Previously, everything I got worked up over [job at the school - being an office girl - getting my permit the first time around - traveling directly after graduating high school - opening up a checking account - you get the point] didn't pull through, but lately everything seems to be fitting together. It sounds lame and quaint, but, you know, I'm 18 years-old and maybe right now I just need lameness and quaintness.
I'm excited.