Who am I kidding..?

Having never been a fan of abstract notions, urban phrases, Icarus-ish-overeaching dreams and love that's not really all consuming- I laughed. Surely fashion faux pas are pardonable, I insist that they should be...and ummm...also a plate of pasta in white sauce once in a while. I offend you and that makes me want to clap my hands gleefully and dance around trees- I never seem to get the Bollywood out of my system.

I fight back harder when its hot and I am sleepy and I don't know the names of Margaret Atwood's poems.

"You never really liked chocolates as a child" -
my mother, on why she ate up all the chocolates my father bought for me when I was a kid.
A cruel lie.
I shall carry on her heritage.

Saturday whine.

I like the way they do it in books. Compartmentalize life- into racy courtroom scenes in the morning and long dreamy bubbles baths with white whine at night. I like the way they compartmentalize the character- into long long legs, long long hair and humongous IQs.

Compartmentalize me!

Curtain Call

I'm no Bonnie Raitt. Even if I was, I wouldn't want to waste my time. I don't know what to say to someone who reads me like a book- a cheap mystery novel. Someone who can barely draw, let alone colour between the lines. Who reads the last page instead of the entire novel and walks away thinking he's figured me out. You made your choice.

No, really, I give up.

Coz I can't make you love me if you don't.

Never know better

-let's give up food!

Heavy metal, cigarette smoke, car-on-the-verge-of-breakdown.

We make big plans- castles in the air that topple and fall.

-for real this time
-like anorexia? Won't happen. You and me..we weren't cut out for that.
-No really, for real- she repeats- no food.
-hmmm...I don't know...yeaaaaahhh...okay...lets!

Pause. She coughs out smoke and-

-You wanna try yoga?

I smile- no..no I don't think so.

Yes

There is nothing more to me. I searched. Turning upside down, I shook myself hoping a few stubborn coins stuck at the bottom would fall out- shiny, jingling.
But I'm stale. Like moldy bread. Like yesterday's news.
He sets my heart aflutter. And then the butterflies hound me and tear at my skin.
"Is that all you've got?" she asks me, or implies not so subtly. The world follows me around with the question. It sticks to me in DTC buses along with the dirt and the grime. I try to shut my eyes, but the world in my head is a lot more terrifying. "Is that all you've got?" it screams.
I panic. Look inside my pockets. And my heart.
Empty

What next?

I want to. It's so simple when I say it that way. Except that its not...so simple.

Because I say I want to eat a cheese-crust pizza with much more conviction and I express my desire to sit on little dogs to see them yelp(or maybe die) with much more spontaneity. My first tantrum- when I was 8yrs old, I remembering lying on my back and flailing my arms and legs about Veronica Lodge style..all for a goddamn birthday barbie. That was want! The burning sensation in the pit of your stomach, knowing that if you don't get it, this minute! This freaking second!...you'd simply die...


I want to. Hell yes, I do. But its not that simple.

Role Play

Telephone conversations and a lot of faith in Linda Goodman, although I still slip and fumble sometimes- in a car, along with a cup of coffee.

Know what... I put on this charade for you! I've spent huge chunks of my life just acting- in and out of dress rehearsal, running through my lines and studying the effect of light on my guilty features. Now you go and tell me you knew all along. "What a waste" I shake my head, then you walk into the room... and I slip back into character.