I sit here in my cloud of smoke (both real and imagined) and I realize something is wrong.
I walked into a pothole.
I got stuck in a sticky spider web.
It's people who reappear suddenly back into one's life. In desperate need of something.
And the resulting vicious circle.
For years and years and years.
It's random violence.
It's stupid mistakes.
Lack of money.
Death in the family.
Falling in love.
But - I was going to school.
Minding my own business.
I can't even recognize that woman now.
She and I wouldn't even hang out together - if that were even possible.
And it must be.
Because that girl couldn't have been me.
That girl shakes her head at me.
From (high up at) her drawing board.
She has her mascara on.
Her boots are all laced up.
She's ready. For the apocalypse - or any design related emergency.
She's all in.
I wait and panic.
I scawl things on the back of random pieces of paper.
I never apply what I know.
I experience relief. Not happiness.
I call myself lucky.
I sketch on post-it notes with a Bic ballpoint pen.
It's all such a mess now that it seems impossible to unravel.
Or it's just a state of mind.
This is that thing that happens.
When a person starts to delude herself for the rest of her life.
In order to survive.
That's not what I had intended.
Flying around as though operated by an outside influence.
I haven't taken anything into consideration.
I haven't taken any vitamins.
This has got to stop.
Serioulsy.. gotta stop..