I’d rather be sleeping*

1. I don’t know what is going on with me right now. I feel like I’m going through some bizarre physiological changes—as if my actual cells are re
arrang
ing into…
s o m e t h i n g

e l s e*

I could chalk it up to my new Patti LaBelle-inspired approach to life. Even though I still need the new shoes and new hat, it’s all been really working out so far. Ms. LaBelle is proving to be quite the effective guru.

It could also be attributed to the lack of powder in my life, or more specifically, my nose. But I’m finding myself going to bed earlier and earlier, and waking up at previously unheard of hours (it is currently 6:18AM. I’ve been rolling around my bed with my brain on fire for at least a good half hour).


I brought my computer into bed with me, which is something I never do. But here I am, in the dark, pecking away at this piece of plastic that is nothing less than an extension of myself. I don’t even need to look at the keys anymore. I just write. Which is insane to me. I mean, I just KNOW which buttons to push to make all of this come to life? Pshaw. I’m just a funny-looking kid from some hokey Midwestern town that's dealing with mad head shit. Um, like how I was picked on the bus every day during the insufferably long ride to ‘private’ school during my 4th grade year. That shit was just wrong.

And what happens when life and time and fate bring you face to face with your torturer, so many years later? It was the least likely setting ever, but oh so fucking perfect.

That same rangy bastard that would taunt, tease and torment me mercilessly on the back of the bus. The fucking piece of shit that once stood up, turned around, and shoving his ass like right onto my face ripped the most noxious, soul-scarring fart you’ve never had the misfortune to, well, eat.

I puked like a mother on the bus that day. And boy, did everyone think it was hilarious.


Now, he’s just…old. Like, an old-ass man old. He can’t be THAT much older than me. But he has those sagging, folded wrinkles all over his face, and boy, under his eyes. He even still wears that stupid hat, his bushy hair now all course and saturated with gray. But in his eyes, I could still see the evil. It was tired, defeated, toothless. But it was still there, dully judging, pointlessly cold. Watching him slowly counting the money, I was suddenly gripped with a clammy panic. Please God, just tell me that I’m not looking in a mirror…

2. "Kids are always honest
Cause they don't think they're ever gonna die"