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I want to be the girl in the car. I want to be the girl in the cheap motel room in the Cohen Brothers' southwest.
Instead I am the girl with the government job and the mortgage that is enraptured by Joni Mitchell's Hejira and Mark Lanegan's Bubblegum.
I want to be the willowy blonde in her boyfriend's jeans, along for the ride with her ramblin' man.
Instead I am the stocky, gawky, sometimes-redhead that tries to make students, lawyers and others understand. They lie in my bed and listen patiently as I paint the fantasy that makes me so very, very sore.
I want to be crystalline in the mind of a tortured artist, angelic in my ability to induce tsunamis of regret.
Instead I am what I am. There's nothin' I can do.