notes from somewhere

when i looked at the water that had just come from my kitchen faucet, i was so disgusted that i had to grab the nearest dirty object and start scrubbing it (even after several vigorous rub-downs under scalding hot water, it was still not clean enough). i feel ill. i'm fucking freezing my ass off in this polluted shit hole and i think that i'm doing o-kay. i have this boyfriend who thinks it's totally lame that i like really awesome bands... and yes, i actually talk like this sometimes. did i mention that i'm twenty-five? well, i am. i am twenty-five years old and my life is a movie trailer. why the fuck did i decide to go to art school? do you know why art school kids can never get good jobs after graduation? (why?) because nobody likes them. ba-dump-bump. don't forget to tip your waiter. waitor? waiter. yeah. that's a good one: i'm sometimes still uncertain about whether or not waiter is spelled with an e or an o and i worked as one for two years. my one black friend suspects that i lay out Ralph Ellison books in preparation for his visits and i'm under the impression that i'm liberal and urban. i am not wise to the way that others see the world. i cannot think for myself for i am selfless. i like to get wrapped up in warm things (i don't mean this sentimentally). i always feel the need to explain myself (because i am often misunderstood). i am often misunderstood (because hardly anything i think or say makes any sense to anyone but myself). part of me wants to think 'well yes, you *could* be misunderstood because you're stupid and/or crazy, but it could *also* be because you're intellectual.' however, most of me knows that if i were actually intellectual, there would be no question to ask. did i mention that it's cold down here? it's cold down here. it's cold as hell down here and all there is to eat is ice cream [i cannot stress how true what i just said is. i only mention the reality of my cupboards because i think that, while cheapening it, it also deepens the metaphor and i do not trust others to expect me to say anything with more than one dimension; nor do i believe they would think look for such flourishes.] the electric heater makes my mouth dry, it makes my skin dry, it evaporates all of the fluids right out of my body, and it is not keeping me warm at all. warm fire and clean well water have become luxuries reserved for the rich. although fresh air and starry nights are still there for anyone who wants to grab a slice, i, of course, *choose* to live here with the grey nights and the exhaust and the water that disgusts me on a much grander scale than even i disgust myself. the two people whom i hate the most are, to me, nothing more than a taunting glimpse at myself in five or ten years, and i work with both of them. and only three women work for my company. how direct a path is that? i know exactly where i'm headed (and it's ugly) if i stick with this shitty con that is my job.. not to be confused with the shitty con where i sent my boyfriend a text message after a gynecological visit regarding 2 missed periods and 2 negative pregnancy tests that read 'fallopian pregnancy" even though the doctor said i was fine. i'm a piece of shit.