if there was a better way to go then it would find me
EVEN COWGIRLS GET THE BLUES
I did a lot of thrifting today. Thrifting among thrifting. There will be boxes among boxes. Alex is super sick fever sick not well to travel sick. I don't think he will be in travel 'see the sites and there's the ocean' mode. There's still that bridge, the glowing water, spook hill, the grotto, sarasota, 1 museum, downtown st.pete, downtown palm harbor, downtown dunedin, and maybe even the good ol' Gaylord Palms.
I should start my homework I should start my papers. My neck is out so tomorrow at the chiropractor there will be talks there will be negotiations.
In Florida, I always get a new found faith in myself. It is one that is layered completely on doubt. Plastered over all the times I really fucked up but it's this "you do exist attitude. It's this you can still do anything because you sat here once and thought you could/
Some people are made up mostly of water, I am made up mostly of headaches, weather reports and wanderlust.
I just kind of have always known I can "do it". These are all obnoxious things. All only child things. All we used to be best friend and then the world took pairs of scissors things. And I look at the wrong pictures an full length mirrors. And add numbers and dates into the flat screen on my iphone.
I want to rent the car myself, shouldn't I just do it? Shouldn't I just do it and say "look I did this, I did it myself-- you can deal with you." That is how I feel. The independence I long for and crave. I learn how to use the electric drill, the stud finder. I hammer nails into the wall and order mirrors. Everyone asks "but aren't you leaving?" ANd I don't know why they don't understand that I cannot leave because I never arrived. I cannot leave because I was never there.
And my head, my head the result of multiple car accidents tries to balance itself on my spine. I guess that's what it does. Migraines. They are the kind of migraines to write about. Do they have emergenccy rooms for migraines?
Here they do because no one has been shot. Just some snow birds septuginarians who hurt their hip "real bad". You can cut to the front of the line and plead insanity or mercy. The doctor will say "don't stick anything smaller than your elbow into your ear."
For a long time you will think of things smaller than your elbow.
You want to rent the car but you don't have a real credit card and you are me and you don't want to depend on your boyfriend or father. You want to be a writer with a column and big paychecks and vacations but you just don't want it you need it. You just don't need it, you do it.
Even when I am floating down in the water I cannot believe in the middle ground.
My professor says I made it up about the poem, I projected. And I want to ask her what poetry is. All of them now as they try and ruin language for me. I can play this game when I need to. I can do it line by line as well.
My boyfriend complains about the cost of his plane ticket so I know I'm on my own with the rental car anyway. That he is never at work that he is always catering to my vacation demands. My father looks at me in the eyes like I dare, like "I dare you to ask me for money." And they are all men. This system of men and they are the ones with the credi cards.
They are the ones that didn't fuck up their credit scores.
No one will co-sign on a card with me. Suze Orman needs to come intervene. She needs to tell me that the books on the walls and the frames don't matter and the pictures are slutty and I'm scared of leaving the house anyway. She needs to say you pay off your debt and then you can start a savings account. Maybe I should read one of her books. But the self-help books go against each other. With the power of positive thinking all you have to do is thinking "money comes frequently and easily" and then it does. It's the law of attraction and they say there is no difference between that and the law of gravity.
So when I don't win $200 million dollars I think 1)how is that possible and 2) maybe I should get a real job
I hope I just cued that song in your head, baby. I've thrown it all away for a song. I've sure come a long way from home.
But not tonight. Tonight in this bed I have to feel my teenage energy float around me. I have to feel the pain in my neck float over my face and eyeballs. I have to think about better prayers to learn.
But here I always want to do it all over and over again. I need you until I get the plot right. I love it when you're the same every time. You make my thighs look different, victimless. Like night objects. I dial your number in my sleep. In my sleep I cant remember if they are "mortal" or "moral" sins. In my waking life I swallow the body of Christ and think all the idiots in room 309 were wrong about St.Sebastian.
Like they've ever been shot with an arrow in their life.
