(no subject)
Let me start off by saying how cool I am. I'm writing this on my sister's computer, drinking a flavored Smirnoff I stole from my muddah. I have enough self respect to not reveal the flavor of said kinda alcoholic drink. For now.
Yet again, I am going to mention work. The magic is starting to work. The kids don't think I am odd once in a while; I see them believing I'm strange. Love blowing them away with unexpected enthusiasm. I can pump them full of encouragement, and it seems to come from an unending well. I know it's barely three weeks into the job, but damn it feels great.
The biggest paycheck is getting home and barely doing anything. So drained, I can barely unwind and do some basic chores. Collapse always imminent. Barely make it past 11:30. Even then, I am usually zonked on couch, irretrievable until early morning cat laps push life back into me. Toss feline food in bowl, get scraggly self ready for today, try not to "make too much noise" so neighbors can pretend people don't live above them. Holy and tiny - grave and true.
Saw a play with dad. Smacked great fun at artificial America. Tied up too much at the end, but still very worth the standing ovation. I ran into Monica, an old Salem State classmate. As if I could forget, she reminded me she was that "opinionated lady." She came from Croatia, and she has and continues to struggle with American society. Mentioned how she cried while everyone else in the theater laughed. Still good. Definitely had some struggles, but is living, pain and all. Must be some joy. I understood most of the words she said, but a few came out like jumbled word explosions. I missed some of the words, but caught the meaning. Jack Kerouac. Painting. Poetry. Still going.
Beat, so fucking beat.
Crazy life, unattached to constraints, could be seen as a threat to my current life. Maybe it is. But I can embrace it, along with the multitudes of miseries and shattering elations. It all is so many things.
Good night all.
Yet again, I am going to mention work. The magic is starting to work. The kids don't think I am odd once in a while; I see them believing I'm strange. Love blowing them away with unexpected enthusiasm. I can pump them full of encouragement, and it seems to come from an unending well. I know it's barely three weeks into the job, but damn it feels great.
The biggest paycheck is getting home and barely doing anything. So drained, I can barely unwind and do some basic chores. Collapse always imminent. Barely make it past 11:30. Even then, I am usually zonked on couch, irretrievable until early morning cat laps push life back into me. Toss feline food in bowl, get scraggly self ready for today, try not to "make too much noise" so neighbors can pretend people don't live above them. Holy and tiny - grave and true.
Saw a play with dad. Smacked great fun at artificial America. Tied up too much at the end, but still very worth the standing ovation. I ran into Monica, an old Salem State classmate. As if I could forget, she reminded me she was that "opinionated lady." She came from Croatia, and she has and continues to struggle with American society. Mentioned how she cried while everyone else in the theater laughed. Still good. Definitely had some struggles, but is living, pain and all. Must be some joy. I understood most of the words she said, but a few came out like jumbled word explosions. I missed some of the words, but caught the meaning. Jack Kerouac. Painting. Poetry. Still going.
Beat, so fucking beat.
Crazy life, unattached to constraints, could be seen as a threat to my current life. Maybe it is. But I can embrace it, along with the multitudes of miseries and shattering elations. It all is so many things.
Good night all.