Juliette Lewis (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lewis_juliette) wrote,@ 2004-06-23 13:41:00 |
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The glistening of snail tracks in the sun
Countdown. Nearly time to brush the glitter of this two-gigabit town off my feet and see what this crazy world and I can offer one another. The modern version of a hairshirt, it can make you itch enough to claw the flesh from your arms, neck and chest; most of us not even knowing we're punishing ourselves because there's comfort in the artificial security we've built around us like a sofa cushion fort. I'm one to talk, aren't I? But the toys are packed away for now. Raw bone laced with sinewy muscle is all I have to offer.
Thirty was great, but that was so last year. Just for the moment, I feel old and ugly. But Keith Richards old and ugly, and I can use that. Screw you, if you can't appreciate the beauty of a 3000 year-old corpse. She doesn't appreciate you either.
The highlight of my was birthday spent dropping sundry items into a reddish-orangish shopping cart. There's something not quite right about getting excited over travel-sized shave gel, collapsable hairbrushes, or the wide variety of flavors you can find in mini tubes of toothpaste, but you take the little pleasures where you can get them. And there I was, grabbing the closest customer to me in the aisle to give witness to the wonders clear ponytail holders.
Someone told me to buy lots of socks and underwear. Without asking wherefore, I hoarded multi-colored packs of each, reminding myself of the times I decided I wasn't into doing laundry and bought new panties when I ran out clean ones. Swinging a wide left, I ventured down the candy aisle, stocking up on boxes of Raisinettes and Sour Patch Kids, all the while having rationalizing arguments with myself over their miraculous, but scientifically untested, energy-boosting abilities.
Oh yes, I'm in a snit, loving that snit I'm in. I expected tizzy by now, and I'm somewhat pleased to see that isn't the case, so there's still an ounce of sweetness and light packed away in here, although it might be in my makeup case now. There's nothing more to do but sit on my suitcase and wait for the circus to come and pick me up.
Countdown. Nearly time to brush the glitter of this two-gigabit town off my feet and see what this crazy world and I can offer one another. The modern version of a hairshirt, it can make you itch enough to claw the flesh from your arms, neck and chest; most of us not even knowing we're punishing ourselves because there's comfort in the artificial security we've built around us like a sofa cushion fort. I'm one to talk, aren't I? But the toys are packed away for now. Raw bone laced with sinewy muscle is all I have to offer.
Thirty was great, but that was so last year. Just for the moment, I feel old and ugly. But Keith Richards old and ugly, and I can use that. Screw you, if you can't appreciate the beauty of a 3000 year-old corpse. She doesn't appreciate you either.
The highlight of my was birthday spent dropping sundry items into a reddish-orangish shopping cart. There's something not quite right about getting excited over travel-sized shave gel, collapsable hairbrushes, or the wide variety of flavors you can find in mini tubes of toothpaste, but you take the little pleasures where you can get them. And there I was, grabbing the closest customer to me in the aisle to give witness to the wonders clear ponytail holders.
Someone told me to buy lots of socks and underwear. Without asking wherefore, I hoarded multi-colored packs of each, reminding myself of the times I decided I wasn't into doing laundry and bought new panties when I ran out clean ones. Swinging a wide left, I ventured down the candy aisle, stocking up on boxes of Raisinettes and Sour Patch Kids, all the while having rationalizing arguments with myself over their miraculous, but scientifically untested, energy-boosting abilities.
Oh yes, I'm in a snit, loving that snit I'm in. I expected tizzy by now, and I'm somewhat pleased to see that isn't the case, so there's still an ounce of sweetness and light packed away in here, although it might be in my makeup case now. There's nothing more to do but sit on my suitcase and wait for the circus to come and pick me up.
