If only I was a rock star

All this emotion would be worth something.

AND I'd get to wear face paint on a regular basis.

Dang.

I made a huge tiny mistake. Shoulda majored in being a bad ass.

Life is ridiculous, slow, and immeasurably painful

Today is many days from yesterday. Yesterday is long gone.

I live in Chicago.

I am a working stiff is a high rise building downtown.

I wear professional attire.

Pants. Heels. Blouse. Name tag.

I walk through a big glass door and scan a badge each morning.

Then consume inordinate amounts of low grade free coffee.

I can type really really really really really really fast.

FAST FAST FAST FAST FAST.

I am insured. But still pay out the ass for medical bills. Why?

I am a woman. That's why.

I am a lot of things today that I was not yesterday.

A woman. For one.

At least getting there anyway.

I am starting several projects this day of days, disguised as a Wedensday.

1. I am writing something down that comes out of my brain at least once everyday. AT LEAST ONCE. Jesus gawd let me keep this measly promise.

2. I am beginning an exercise regimen that will have me severly ripped and arm wrestle ready for the summer. I am. You'll see.

3. I am going to treat myself like an artist. I will pursue things that inspire and grant myself the privilige and being inspired. I will create and destroy and recreate. Because that is what I like to do. I had forgotten.

4. I will be honest. Fearless. And passionate.

5. I will be waiting for great things to happen.

I hope for this to be the first of many posts contributing to my rehabilitation as a artistic voice and human girl. I have felt like a professional data analyzing robot for a whole year now. I'm ready to unplug.

Love yourself, self.

Love/yourself.

Office Space

4:30 am is when I go to bed. For the past three nights. Reasons?:

1. I watch demon-ridden episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the dark, so I get scared when I close my eyes.
2. I'm alone. In more ways than one.
3. There is so much crap for me to learn from Wikipedia before death. I'll never finish.
4. Facebook is a terrible insomniac-inducing drug.
5. Sometimes I like watching the paint on my ceiling being not wet.

Aside from insomnia, I'm also suffering from an immoral job and the unwanted possession of my virginity.

I work in a call center about 18 minutes from my house. Exactly. The cubicle I work in stinks like misery. It's the smell left over from the middle-aged and a half jersey wearing man that worked in it the shift before man. I told him that I was a writer yesterday in the break room. Tomorrow, he's sending me three screen plays to pass on to "you know, whoever you can when you get outta here."

Outta here. Like it's a prison. A prison that pays just okay. Enough for me to tolerate it for two months and then move on to bigger and better things. But this guy has been there for years. In the same three jerseys and pair of sneakers.

Golly moses, Moses. Let these people go.