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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Demon Mothership
Put The Angst Down And Back Away Slowly And No One Will Get Hurt That was a terribly angsty last entry, wasn't it? I'm just going to go ahead and blame PMS. Because I'm a girl. And I can get away with it. Up Against The Wal(-Mart)! So I went to Wal-Mart this morning. I fucking hate Wal-Mart. But I needed...you know...shit. (I actually needed nothing, but I wanted not to go home, and I've been feeling crappy what with this summer cold, and I was dressed for Wal-Mart in dirty black capris and a t-shirt (that I borrowed from Max) that looked as though I had slept in it last night--and that somehow the night involved the underside of a bridge. And my hair? We won't even get into it. (For a person who spends nearly her entire disposable income on haircare products, I walk around most of the time looking like I just received some sort of shock treatment.) I was so not dressed for Target, so I went to Wal-Mart. I hate Wal-Mart so much that even parking becomes this dreaded ordeal. Just walking in the door and having to face that sad retiree in the dirty blue vest makes me remember how much we hate the elderly in this country. And please don't get me started on the wage slave rant, because as I was there, trying on yet another pair of plastic flip-flops, the "team leaders" or whatever they're called, started in on the PA system announcement for all Wal-Mart "team members" (read: wage slaves) to gather in the whatever area for the morning Wal-Mart chant or prayer or whatever. (I swear, I saw them all line up facing Sam Walton's gravesite, the Wal-Mart equivalent of Mecca.) I tried on some more shoes. (I need a pair of trash sandals-sandals that I can trash--for the studio.) I tried on a few bras. (Wal-Mart bras. The mark of true class. I don't think I've ever tried on a bra that had one of those half-pound security tags on it.) I tried on a linen shirt (and almost bought it, if only because it's so hard to find black, long-sleeved summer clothes). I put an energy bar into my basket. And then I headed for the corner of shame, the aisle back in the corner near the pharmacy that is the home of the smoking "remedies," the tampons and maxi-pads, the over-the-counter birth control methods and pregnancy tests... ...to be continued, as it's gym time, my little demons.
More lies:
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