Fiercely, Madly, False Mustache-y
This weekend, most of my relatives pile into SUVs and head to Moscow, Pennsylvania for a reunion of my stepfather's family. While I would love to compare Jell-O mold recipes with distant relations I usually only see at funerals, I'm staying put. Last night, I started throwing away stuff in anticipation of moving. That means I have to find a place to move to. This afternoon, I'll see a studio apartment in Highland Park. If it works out, I can stop grinding my teeth and my friends - to a fine sheen. I like my friends smooth and attentive. And smooth. Yes.
Horoscopically speaking, I've been keeping secrets from myself. How that is possible for a mental blabbermouth I do not know, but I decided to sit myself down and demand the truth.
Me: What is it you're not telling me?
Me: I can't tell you.
Me: You sound like half my Exes after visits to the Lower East Side.
Me: After an unnamed event I can't hint about that will change something you're not aware of I won't need to tell you anything and we can forget all about this non-moment.
Me: Will you tell me after it happens?
Me: Tell me!
Me: Tell me!
Me: So what is the purpose of telling me you won't tell me?
Me: Are you worried now?
Me: Yessirree, Bob!
Me: Were you worried before?
Me: Not...that I recall.
Me: I give you focus. Now, sit up straight and fret like you mean it!
Right...so last night I started throwing things away. Who needs copies of CMJ from 1999 still in the mailing plastic? Who needs paystubs from 1996? Out they went! It got a little dicey when I found drafts of poems I didn't remember writing because the 1990s have disappeared from my memory. A bunch of crumpled up napkins I guessed I could keep. All the rest: out!
Tonight: maybe I'll get to the closet with my costumes and the old bottles of body paint. It's not like I'm going to slather myself with bronze goo and stand on a pedestal again in public anytime soon.
Not until your check clears, anyhow.