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By Misti Date: 2001 Sep 02 Comment on this Work [[2001.09.02.10.45.16294]] |
| It is raining outside and I feel like puking. My head feels like a pinata. Filled with bad candy, swatted with a stick a few times too many. This morning you tell me that "Indians are bad drunks." You tell me that I peed on the bedroom floor and sprayed Red Dog beer all over myself. I was wild. I was out of control. I got angry, you say, because you wouldn't take me out for pancakes. I'm sorry, I have no memory of all of this. I only remember listening to my new Doors and Billie Holiday cds and my old Otis Redding cd by candlelight. I only remember crying, realizing how heartbreakingly beautiful and tragic and magic life can be and how it can flee before you even realize it's happening. I remember dancing in the dark. But this morning my lips are numb and you think I'm "dumb" because I took my mother's bait. I've been bribed. I'm going out into the rain to attend church with my mom so that afterward I can go out to eat and see "Rat Race." I'm sorry for my idiocy. I'm sorry that I want to drive to San Francisco and sit on the dock of the bay. Most of all, I'm sorry for those bottles of wine and cans of Red Dog. Today I will repent. Not to Jesus but to you. God bless. Goddess forget. No regrets just cigarette ashes and a puddle on the floor that shouldn't be there. |