(no subject)
i am almost 26 years old. i am almost 30. i am almost 40. 50. 60. 70. 80. 90. 100. 1000000. dead and gone. i don't write poetry anymore. or if i do, i don't put it before anyone's eyes. i don't make mix tapes. i don't receive love letters. sometimes people stare at me like i have something on my face, but i don't. i kicked all the skeletons out of my closet. i am tired of sharing beds with ghosts. how wonderful it would be to fall in love with a man who has just woken from a 20 year long coma. to have him look the age i want. to have him still have the kind of heart i want. i made small attempts to clean the apartment. maybe a garage sale is in order. tiny stickers, low prices, a chance to make room for bigger and better things. i need a new job. i want to learn how to crochet. i want to make a pair of feather fans. i want to feel like my body is strong again. i stop biting my nails because the man wants me too. now i can't stop painting them. they are currently "blue me away". sometimes i buy beauty products based on names alone. i think this weekend i'm going to try to make my hair white. start wearing eyeliner everyday. big rosy cheeks. i want to be a gypsy by the end of august. i want nothing but money for new orleans and silly decadent things for my birthday. i want a locket because mine is broken. almost everything i own at this point is. today i found pictures of room that are gorgeous and i want to make my entire home look like them. come over and i'll show you. i owe the library 11 dollars. if i could get a job at a university, i could take classes for free. feel smart again. have a use for the part of my brain that memorized mla formatting rules instead of important birthdays or phone numbers. does this sound sad? i don't mean it to sound sad. i have so many joyous moments they are hard to count. got hit up by so many burlesque people in the last 24 hrs its ridiculous. why do people want to hire me?? its flabbergasting. accept some, deny others. explain to everyone, i am brainstorming. i am not happy with this right now. my acts are old and small. i need time and money to work. i keep trying to convince myself nola is worth it. time away from this city, a chance to do something i've never done before, meet new people, bond with the girls, etc, etc. but i am also terrified it will be a huge expense, that i will end up feeling left out because all the other girls are friends already, that because lola is overscheduled but still wanting to control the number, we will end up learning something at the last minute and i will look like an idiot and all the other girls will be mad that i don't pick up on dance steps as quickly. sometimes i just wanna speak up and say, "hey, i get it, i'm not as trained as you. i don't have the ability to choreograph this whole thing, and yeah, sorry, i won't be losing 20 lbs or dropping down into the splits anytime soon. but hey guess what. i'm kinda cute and sassy and stuff and if you give me a second, i can learn this, and make people love us a lil more, cuz that's kinda my thing. kinda why lots of people like me and book me, ya know?" but that sounds really bratty. maybe i am a lil bratty. but that's what happens when half of you knows these girls are awesome and you wanna be friends, but the other half knows they're unhappy too and if the group broke up sorry, i won't be invited into their next thing. and on top of all this, the truth is, i wish i had the money to just branch out. because burlesque opened this pandora's box and reminded me how much i like movement and performing. i wish i could take a pole class. or aerial. or yoga. or any kind of dance class really. fuck. i even miss the gym. i need a light for my bike. i need to not be scared of my bike. are you still reading this? don't you have something better to do? go outside for christ's sakes. find an ice cream truck. blow some bubbles. dig out the skip it from the garage. for fucks sake, life isn't hard. your lungs and your heart do it for you. its the living we get all caught up in. its the mortgages and the divorces and the lost jobs lost loves lost friends and the hospital bills credit card bills loans and taxes. well i'm going on record here. i don't care. judge me on my childish ideals. go for it. be lonely and die old and alone. but realistic. thank god you were realistic. i bet that's what you'll be doing right? thanking god you had the foresight to invest in that one stock or that you were so thorough in your research of mpg in every car you owned. and if that's what you want, then good for you. but, see over here, i've got different plans. see, over here, i'm going to marry some mister that fills the backyard with sunflowers and the bed with clean sheets and lots of pillows and love and the walls with floor to ceiling bookcases. and he will know i love him with every bone in my body because i will be a walking testament. i will worry about my soul and my conscience more than my checkbook. if i make babies, i will grow to be someone they are proud of. and if i don't, i will still grow. so what if i find contentment in fingertips and ice cream sundaes. i will pay my bills and watch my p's and q's, but after that ladies and gentlemen, please step aside because i've done enough for you. i will be dreamy whether you like it or not. i am almost 26 years old. i want my fortune read.