This house is a graveyard for creativity, I haven‘t played my guitar in 2 weeks (a major drought in comparison to the love I generally give to her). I’m not ungrateful, I just wish my door wasn’t a 9ft fragment of cloth that filtered nothing but my nakedness.
I feel like I’m 16 again, whispering phone calls to my boyfriend at 3am so my mom won’t hear me on the opposite side of the house through dog snores and step-dad snore-gargles.
Do you know what it’s like to live with rules again at 24!?
I’m like the fat kid who’s mom thinks she’s cute; packing cookies and Dr. Pepper’s in her lunch with little notes. Oh wait, I was that kid.
I also recall cutting a bad-behavior strip of bangs down to the scalp and giving it a 5th grade girl comb-over. This was successful for about a week until it started to spike through the rest of my rat’s nest.
I was sitting at lunch, pretending to do a news report in my made-up Chinese jargon. Then, when the jezebel’s started laughing, I was like, “Oh cool, I’m fuckin’ hilarious”. Guess who wasn’t hilarious? The fat kid.
Yeah, they were laughing at the stub of bangs navigating North point-blank on the top of my head. Like a drunk version of Alf-Alfa’s signature spike.
Or how about the time Cayla, more like Lucifer, asked me what size my pants were. Want to know what my award winning response was? “I don’t know, my mom buys my clothes.”
That one ranks at number 4 in the book of things not to say when you’re in the 5th grade. My life is full of treasures like these.
There are no diamonds in my rough.
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