u s e y o u r h a n d s

I stopped off at Dominick’s on the way home from work yesterday to pick up some supplies for the sad evening in front of me. Here’s what I bought: A snickers bar, a chicken pot pie from Marie Callender’s, and a bottle of Yellowtail Shiraz Cabernet. You tell me what happened.

I felt like cleaning, sifting. It was like I was looking for something, but I didn’t find anything. I wanted order. I wanted sense. The thing I’m best at, the thing I really do well, is prepare. I am bad at execution, but I am an exquisite planner. The tubs I packed with all my shit before I drove here are still in the closet. I hauled them out, sorted, and prepared three bags for Goodwill. When I finally shut the closet door, the two packed tubs were poised to go. But not just yet.

There are still miles to go. There are still months left. I can’t afford to move, but yet I know there’s going to be a cost to staying. Whatever. I can’t figure it all out. What went wrong and why is part of me so incorrect, so inappropriate? People have asked what have I learned. Nothing. I’m not to the reflection part yet. I only really know what I’ve always known. You only have yourself, yourself to blame and yourself to trust.

Part of me wants to get the hell out of here as fast as I can. Nobody would miss me but the Peedger and there’s a few who would love to see me go. I’ve been lonelier here than anywhere else. I’ve felt lonely before, but mainly due to self-imposed exile. But here, I felt sad a lot of the time because, for the first time in my life, nobody was interested in me at all. If not for the Peedger, there were weeks that I wouldn’t have said a word.

But part of me wants to stay. Because there’s nothing I love more than the underdog, and in this fight, that’s me. Because fuck everyone who didn’t give a shit. Because I’m so afraid to be caught doing the wrong thing. Because it’s a wartime economy. Because, bitch, I want to win. Because I felt safe here. Because I’m wanted here.

We’ll see, I guess. Goddamn you, California. I miss you so much. I don’t know what it is, but I cried when I left you and I’m crying now because I’m coming back. I’m going to choke when I smell the beach in the mountains and I’m going to smile when I see ten thousand miles of concrete. But the whole time, you’ll know I was somewhere else for awhile and happy at times. We’ll be together again, but it’s going to be a wary reunion, won’t it?

This rambling entry lacks detail because I don’t want to add shade and light to a terrible thing. But let me end it like this. When I was cleaning out one of the tubs, I found this poem Phineas had left in the closet for me when I moved in. I never read it. I didn’t read it last night when I found it again. Maybe it started then or maybe it didn’t. I don’t know what it means, but I thought it should be said.

Running: through my head is “Girl’s Room” by Liz Phair. Who knows a girl named Tauryn?

Avoiding: my neo-fut class tonight. It’s all about your life and I don’t want to think about mine today. Especially not in front of sixteen-year-olds.

Hoping: that Lacey isn’t suffering from the tummy grumbles during her spiritual fast.