03.Sep.2001

not here

--

so

So the day is spent wondering, What am I doing here?. My schedule has transformed itself into something chaotic, and already it's past five pm. My lips are greasy from lip gloss. I'm starving but for nothing. I spent last night on the phone with two very good friends of mine, there will be AT&T hell to pay. My bra strap keeps coming down. My hair is falling out.

I wiped my hands over my lips and I see words and words and words that I don't know, that I should make a conscious effort of getting to know, taking out to barbeques or coffee shops, even though I'm not a coffee shop type.

My diary is too black. I'm wearing blue jeans and a red tank-top. I own three articles of black clothing.

I'm not goth, I'm not emo, I'm not an indie chick or a candy raver or a corporate-sucking adult or a college student or a singing belly button Levi's commercial, or a twinkie or a slut. I'm not a lonely Midwesterner and certainly not the punching bag of my sparse female friends, you bitches.

I'm transfixed on the fleetingness of time.

I'm very not-supposed-to-be-here today.

--

time & machine