Homeless

Posted December 20th, 2004 by Michelle

There must be some correlation between what we do on a micro level versus what we feel should be done on a macro level. If I keep eating french fries, aren’t I, in some way, giving the finger to the Everglades, or sticking said finger into the hole in the ozone and swirling it around to make it bigger? I can’t bear how I’m treating myself any more than I can bear the current political goings-on, and yet, somehow I feel i’m to blame for all of it. I can’t hardly even refer to, you know, he who shall not be named who runs our country, because it honestly makes the bile creep up my esophagus. What drives me to french fries- my hatred of him, or my hatred of myself? It’s all very confusing. I’m acting out against something; I just wish I knew what it was so I could corner it, kick it’s ass, and get back to my normal life. It’s very confusing. Even if I knew what it was, how do I kick it’s ass?

I had a remarkably successful evening of self-loathing last night. I am capable of shoving my foot so far down my throat that retrieving my shoe becomes impossible. I say the stupidest fucking things sometimes. These comments come from a horrible, defensive place, and I hate them. A colleague asked me an opinion of someone a few weeks ago, and I replied, “Well, she’s not very smart”. A month ago, another someone said she wanted to fix me up with her friend, but she was concerned that I was a wine geek and her friend didn’t drink. Wanna know what I said? “Does he just not drink or is he a sober alcoholic?” Last night, one of my friends asked me why another one of my friends wanted to have dinner at an earlier time, and I replied, “Well, because we WORK for a living”. All of these horrid responses come from my own ugly fears. It’s fine to have ugly fears, but it’s not fine to let their nasty twisted heads see the light of day in good company. I could go through and detail why these responses were so ugly, so vastly inappropriate, but that’s not the point. The point is, sometimes I say really fucking stupid things, and I hate it.

Sometimes I eat french fries, and I hate it.

And sometimes I am still so fraught with sadness, with despair, at where our country is going, and who is at the helm, that i give up and think, “Well I might as forking well keep eating french fries, cuz it’s just not going to matter.” It’s not like me to feel hopeless, but some of the choices I’m making are pointedly in that direction. I feel shame so deep, so wide, that sometimes, most times I don’t want to leave my house. Because who could want what I am.