Monday, March 30, 2009

Mandy Moore

the cat's in the garden, his fat wobbling as he paces across the grass. The tree is bare now that fall is here and I've just gone and made the horrific mistake of reading an old journal from the year of High school graduation and I'm feeling dreadfully regretful and insecure. It's fucking cold we've got the electric fire on and I've got this cough but I'm smoking a cigarette. I don't really smoke anymore.
It's frustrating when you compromise your belief system to fit within somebody else's ideals or agenda. You find yourself fighting the realist, the part of you that is very together.
Matt's at the show and I keep thinking about how he said Mandy Moore got fat and I'm looking at that stupid gray sweater he's wearing and it's too bad he's so good looking with comments like that. Erin says I can finish her drink and maybe I will because this place is tired and that journal is repeating itself in my head the desperation scrawled out in purple felt tip soaking into the lined paper screaming things I do not care to recall. I remind myself it's been 7 years and it is possible to change and i put my elbow on the wet counter and my cardigan mops up the excess liquor that's spilled from my glass. I look at the girls around me and they are very beautiful, really exquisite and my addiction to them. I want to quit everything cold turkey. I want to run away in a gypsy caravan and have no ties to my previous life. I want to have a bonfire and burn all my memories and predispositions I wan tto watch the smoke rise grey smoke spilling over the houses into the creases of the rooftops, carrying away all those lessons that make us who we are today. What if we could go back to a clean slate? 12 years old without any lessons would i feel less jaded? Less guilty about my stupid decisions? What is it about 18 year olds, it's like something just kicks in that says "be bad! BE BAD BE BAD! DO BAD THINGS" and your parents are so over it they cant even understand you anymore. As you get older that feeling dissipates and there is nothing left to do but live your life as this new person who's "learned lessons" Im beginning to think those lessons are worthless. Erin grabs my hand and we dance to the terrible swing band, she's so pretty you cant write about her or take a picture of her she reminds me of a Judy Blume novel, the character that all the girls want to be that's totally sweet but everybody is so crazy jealous of. But I dont feel jealous of these girls I am happy to be swinging around in their arms in their confident lovely worlds filled with free drinks, lists love friends cat calls blonde hair sweeping the room like it was Spain and the men wish their wives were just a little less plain.

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