Saturday, May 11, 2013


Do you know about plastic balloons? These ones. I hope you grew up playing with them or know someone who did or google them, watch a video, something, because it's a bit important that you know the what's-and-how's.

Lately I've been feeling feelings that are best relayed from my mind to another by comparing them to plastic balloons. I am a plastic balloon, is what I'm saying. I am constantly growing. Watch, gather round, ladies and gents, kiddies and whatever-you-ares, look at me! I'm an amazing expanding girl. Watch my waist and wrists and thighs and arms grow grow grow and bloat bloat bloat and then throw me into the ocean so I can float off and find another island with more ladies gents kiddies and whatevers to entertain. 

But oh wow here's the cool part: I am also deflating. Here's a question, which shall segue into my discussion/explanation/analysis/whatever: what are girls made of? Not the muscle and blood bile phlegm tears plasma or water. The thoughts, the dreams, the things that make them tick tick tock? Are there things that are common between all girls? What about all people? If there is, something like hopes for the future or  happiness or dreams or wants or feelings, then I regret to report that I am lacking these things. What serious medical complications can result from this? Her heart has stopped because of a deficiency of dreams. Yes, actually that sounds true. I am deflating like a plastic balloon that has a teenie tiny hole that no one can see. I am shrinking and no one, especially me, knows why. My hopes, dreams, happiness and sanity are flowing out of me, perhaps through my ears or piercings, and they are becoming part of the outside air. The big bad world. I'm becoming empty and wrinkly and I no longer reflect things in a pretty way.

I don't feel like being right now. Being is becoming a complicated thing. An elaborate process. A demanding routine. I don't like it and soon my back will break and the last straw will snap or catch fire or whatever. Soon, someday, some night, some afternoon, I will simply stop being. I will poof and I will disappear and I will maybe then be happy.

In the news section: today I went to see a brand spanking new shiny doctor. She was nice and she doesn't like her name either. I thanked her for sharing by loosening the taps of my tear ducts and flooding her office. My brother came with me, proving for all those who read this and everyone else in the world as well I suppose that he is sweet and nice and he didn't complain even though we were waiting for 3 hours. Now I am home all aloney on my owney in my dormroom, which I am beginning to despise. Well, I'm not all aloney. I have here with me a little goodie bag of drugstore treats. A brown paper pocket in which I will keep my brand new true blue bestfriends. 

Here is a playlist. It makes me smile and cry, but in a happy way. I know the difference.

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