I wrote this on Friday towards the end of a long and (once again) shitty day. I’m peppering in some gifs because now that I don’t feel quite so angry, it all seems a little too serious.
This morning I told a man I was here to ruin his day. I believed it too. Why the fuck not? If I can’t be happy why should anybody else?
I’m fucked, let’s party.
It was really me that started everything. I was looking at my phone at a red light and I missed when it turned green, which is not something I usually do, but I woke up so early. Well, woke up is not such an accurate statement. I laid in my bed for five hours, I had one dream (a terrible thing about trying to prevent a tragedy and nobody believing me or caring) and when the alarm went off I sat up, got ready, and left to get my oil changed.
All of a sudden when this guy had his car pulled up next to mine, yelling at me about what am I doing and what am I thinking, the universality of those questions brought out a rage in me I sometimes pretend I don’t carry anymore. So I held up my middle finger and then I pointed at it with my other hand and I yelled at him that I was here to ruin his day. I said that I got up this morning with expressly that intention and I wanted to know of it was working. “I’m here for you, fuckhead.”
I am so angry at this shit ball of a city. I’m angry at it’s prices, and it’s culture and it’s traffic. I want to go somewhere else, I want to be someone else. Someone who has a passion she can be unabashed about, someone who, in addition to knowing her own value, is valuable in the eyes of others. I want to be a professional again. I want the aspects of my work to clear away time, space, and discomfort. I want everything all those blow hard “follow your dreams” inspirational speeches and essays say I can have.
All of this is, of course, fantasy and only partially attainable. I know. As long as I can remember being me, I’ve wanted to be someone else instead. When I was very young I thought maybe I was a princess and my real parents would come for me any day now. Then I thought maybe I was an alien and my real people would come for me eventually. By college I thought that maybe I was just a freak in need of a tribe. But every club I try to join, I put myself right out of it. I’m a punk who hates punks, a woman who hates women and a creative who hates artists so much I refuse to even suggest I may be anything close to one.
When we do finally get out of LA, an inexpressible majority of my problems will be coming with me. And that’s the fact with any major change. Wherever you go, there you are. With all your issues, and insecurities and general lack of training for the fuck storm you’re about to stick every tender, fleshy part of yourself into.
So, I guess I sort of am here to ruin that hipster’s day. We’re all here to ruin somebody’s day, right?