February 22, 2005
In Some Arms
I hate myself nearly full-out until I start to write, see myself typing out text before I get to the keyboard, see it touching paper. I swear to god. I’m not one for melodrama, so I’ll say this, with no cynicism whatsoever: most of the time, it’s writing and thoughts of it that keep me alive. Depression, my depression, comes on when I’m unaware of that fact.
for example, I hate myself when at parties, I pull
aside one of my girlfriend’s boyfriends and say,
excuse me, can we talk about your hair now?
a-ha-gah!
but, I kind of love
myself when I’m
the odd straight-girl
in a group of three
at the beach; that always
makes so much
sense to me.
knock over the coffee
cup as well as I can
with the rocks I have.
YOU’RE LIKE A YOUNG KAREN KAIN!!
[it's really ALL I'm waiting for
these days. So: HOPE YOU'RE ON IT,
BULFORD!]