In all my life, things have never been so discombobulated as they are now. I feel like I have the Midas touch. But instead of gold, it's shit. Shit, I tell you!
First, the impossible happens. And of course it happens when I least expect it, thus leaving me completely unprepared. It was the most frustrating conversation I have ever had in my entire life. I feel like if we had been talking face to face, I would have been screaming. Even though no one could see me, I threw my hands up out of pure vexation more than once and cursed at the computer screen as if it made a difference. It was cathartic, despite the fact that my questions were endless and his answers were metaphors. Nothing was resolved. Thus is life, I guess. It's sad how I willingly anticipate that all promises made to me will be broken. So far, this one is no exception.
I hate that this isn't easy for me and that I have given power to a powerless situation. And I especially hate that I have publicly humiliated myself (I might go as far to say flagellate) all thanks to butterflies that someone once graciously gave me and then stole back only to set them free without me. Well, rest assured. Next time I happen to see one of our butterflies (well, they're your responsibility now) I will trap it in a jar and let it die. It's only fair.
I catwalked to what I surely believed was my inevitable death. Turns out (after watching video recorded evidence) I didn't embarrass myself that bad. It was all actually quite adorable. I laughed. I laughed on the runway. How cute is that?! (If you don't know how to answer that question, allow me; SUPER CUTE!)
Me: Do you girls happen to have a pen?
Model: What? Are you signing an autograph or something?
Me: No...
Model: You know who you look like?
Me: Jenny Lewis?
Model: How'd you know I was going to say that?!
Me: Lucky guess?
I need a new job within the next three weeks. I'm nearly unemployable, seeing my flawless track record of being fired. But I need a job. I cannot live on less than ten hours a week, making less than eight dollars an hour in a place where my off color jokes are ridiculed by the ill humored. Fast food and stripping are my last resorts.
It's funny how just a few months ago everything seemed to be falling into place. Which place, I am unsure, but they were undoubtedly falling strategically into a some designated fate. And now, the pieces that were once so systematically arranged are now scattered haphazardly. Don't worry. I'll get my dust pan and start cleaning up. Perhaps if I take the time to align the pieces they will form a silver lining...or something like that.
[I had to, I'm sorry. I just wanted you to let me in. I cared about you more than you will ever know. Thank you for protecting me. ]
(No butterflies were harmed in the writing of this entry.)
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2 comments:
Three things I love here, Haphazadry-a word I thought only Doc Emery used in a retarded state of mind is utilized to a smile.
A promice that unecessary butterfly death will be prevented at the end. Could be avoidable if you just tell the truth and keep records of those who fall into the mayo jar of doom.
Finally, a silver lining can be found in the vocabulary that stresses that, while you were indeed frustrated and emotionally battered, you can rest assured you have no midas touch of shit... Or W touch if you will. I promice that there will be at least one promice that will be kept. Here it is, as long as you can spit out words beyond "fuck oh god fuck no" etc., you will be fine.
Bonus, it will be considered SUPER CUTE. :P
Dear Jerilyn,
I <3 reading your blog posts.
Sincerely, Lisa Vrazo
PS. You, Jill, Aly and I need to do a fun cousinly thing sometime.
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