my breaks in character are small, like gnats buzzing against your eyes.

in the end, i will be a fallen woman, drinking whiskey out of a dirty mug, in threadbare clothes and with one sock fallen off, my hair a mess that i cut myself, a voice like tom waits (or marianne faithful).

and for nothing.

so, i better start making it for something! and by something i mean fun.

i dreamt about my old job last night, i was yelling at everyone.

i am not sure what i am so angry about lately, but it's real. it's not on the surface of my skin at every moment, but it's right under it like a thousand splinters, or fiberglass bits blown off the back of sun chairs at the pool i went to when i was growing up. somewhere near the end of the day you'd be red and glowing, tiny slivers of fiberglass in your skin like a window broken and smashed into glittering dust.

this anger is like dipping your finger into the dust like sugar, and rubbing it against your lips until they bleed.

i don't know if i can explain this correctly, but i want to say this much:

it. feels. really. good.

when i am not dreaming about screaming my head off, i am wrapping old phone cords around myself to help myself sit still.