It could have been a brilliant career. OLD
Published Friday, March 08, 2002 by mary.
Damn you.
Good people should be a little bit stuck up.
Sitting by the bar in a dark room with no air, drinking water from a glass that looks like it contains a dry martini (without the olive), and slowly eating a sandwich with ketchup between the two soft slices of ”Franz Premium white” bread. In a room somewhere else in this building, behind it’s white cracked walls (they keep the memory of the earthquake fresh and clear) , there she is, sleeping, making weird sounds that I sure don’t make when I sleep, sounding like my old grandfather when he comes down the stairs in our old house grumbling something about the good ol’ days. I wish I could sleep like her. Lying on my back, acting like I’m dead, and looking like there is not a thing in the world that could bother me. Instead I’m sitting here, behind he same white, cracked walls, but wide awake, and wandering what i’ll be doing at the exact same time, 04:27 am, a month from now. I’m wondering i I’ll be sleeping (Yeah right, that’s likely!), and if I will have something better to do than sit around typing on my love with the left hand, eating my fifteenth ketchup-sandwich for the evening, and drinking fake-martinis while pretending to be James Bond. I probably won’t. Tomorrow it would be a great idea to go across the street to QFC and buy ”Franz Pemium white” for amost all my money, they’re at half price right now. I can buy a lot and freeze ’em, it’ll last two months if i buy enogh to fill the whole freezer. Oh, and yeah, I have to get some ketchup to. That’ll make my day. I should get brilliant ideas like this more often... huh.
GAWD. I’d like those sassy levi’s-jeans I saw the other day, and maybe the $400 James Dean Lees, damn it they were cool. It’s all in the jeans you know. When my ”ACNEs” were still wearable, I could do anything. Like the ”attacking strangers with sassy shoes, and asking them to go for a cup of coffe”-thing. That was totally not a big deal. But now, when my JEANS are RIPPED, I’m suddenly acting like a stupid meaningless ant, just waiting for someone to come and kill me. STEP ON ME. I’m crushed easily.
I bet you didn’t expect this from me. I bet you expected me to be something better. Something to hold on to. Like the handle on a suitcase filled with money. I guess you were expecting me to be something that you could give to da fat guy in da ol hood, were yo mama n ol homies that yo ain’t speaking to anymo, are at. But I’m still a pretty face on pretty legs, for what that’s worth. You can buy me a mercedes and a gucci-purse, then you and I will look just fine together. You and I. Damn. It’s only me here.
It’s me, my ketchup, fake-martini, imaginary bartender and a piano I don’t know how to play any longer.
Love
/Mary Poppins
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Published Thursday, February 21, 2002 by mary.
Well I suddely had to accept the fact that everyone else lives in the real world, and I live in lala-land. WEEE
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Published by mary.
gosh
less of this melodramatic shite.
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Published by mary.
So i burnt out and faded away
It's going to take a long time to get to where I was before everything that came inbetween me and myself.
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Published by mary.
What nobody needs to know...
But here I am, choking on my words, choking on adorable, as I compulsivly write them again and again. I never seem to say anyhing new. What I say never seems to help. It doesn't make anything better, and i don't feel relieved to have shared my words with my love; the computer. But I keep on doing it. keep on choking, and keep on getting disappointed that nor this time, or any other time did my writing, my words, make me rise to the sky on small light clouds relived from the heavy rain they unwillingly have been carrying around, by force of nature.
Today I had planned yet another "hello dear love, i miss you why did you have to go"-piece, but I sat down trying to form the sentences of glorified memories, and realised that I can't do it any more. I guess I'm giving up. I guess this is my final way of telling myself that it's about time I accept that easy comes, easy goes. But I've got the images inside my head. They are really all I ever wanted. Images put together to wonderful memories. That beats the trouble of having to deal with people.
I made an attempt to adapt to what I though was better. I tried to reach the greener grass on the other side of the lawn. I tried and tried and even though every attempt failed I kept on trying. There's really not anything else I can do. I have fiction, a pocket full of things, not even I am sure are real. Life can take a life in a blink of a second. Life can take a circumstances, tear it to shreds and throw it away. But I've got something here, inside of me. At this point, al I can do, is be thankful for that. They can't take that away from me.
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Published Wednesday, February 20, 2002 by mary.
welcome to lalaland
