Innocent/Asshole
I am somewhat thankful that my days are so filled up with work that I barely have time to think and when I do, I think of love, feminism, the hopelessness of the future vs. pretending I'm in 1969-1974, my anxiety, music, how to make music, how much I value my own cynicism, people who can spell/use proper grammar/be articulate without being pretentious. I enjoy a large vocabulary in a human being. I enjoy Jeremiah very much. My happiest times are with him. I feel so tired, so in limbo during the times when I am not with him, or working. Work= four shots of expresso a day, and I'm never that hungry. Friends are down to one. Eliminated a few friends, for different reasons. Have been eliminated by friends also (different ones than I have, myself, eliminated. Have been reading. Haven't been writing. Never watch television. Eating a bit less. My muscles are always aching. I enjoy punk rock again, though not Asbalt punk. Feel there is a thick line drawn between glam rock and punk rock. I don't care. I dress in rags, in my own poverty. I do care. I smear glitter all over my breasts and my eyebrows and drag queens compliment me everywhere I go. Whatever. It doesn't really matter in the long run and I don't really care how I come across in public because it's either akward or fake+overdone and it doesn't really matter because if you look good, you can be a fucking idiot and people will still like you. So do your hair real purdy before you go to the bar, and then you can get wasted and tell awful jokes and everything's still fine the next day, unless you run into someone who doesn't call you anymore and your heart beats fast fast faster. Then you find yourself crying on the skytrain, or the bus. Alone again, in transit. Transition. Life is always polar.