What is this?! I have tons of homework for some reason. Math is pwning me as usual, APES has this huge ass project proposal that is impossible. Poetry is my life-saving class and the reason I get out of bed pretty much. I have no idea what to do for this week's poem though, I have written, rewritten, organized, and reorganized this thing so many times. Gahh.
I also have no money thanks to my unfailing moral compass, luxurious tastes, fucking fatass of a car, and bad reverse skills in it. I cracked a tiny little piece of someone's taillight in December, and then I dented someone's mailbox two weeks ago. Next time remind me not to leave a note. Just my luck that the tiny plastic taillight is for some unknown reason really expensive, and the mailbox was one of those fancy motherfuckers with a lock. So after I pay everyone, I will have exactly -$60.
My only income is money my grandmother sends me, but I think she's going (more) senile because she hasn't remembered to in a while. I applied for a job at Trader Joe's last week, and I don't hear back until next week but there's pretty much no way that I will get it because I'm 17 with no retail experience or job experience of any kind and I have inflexible hours because I still have to go to school. I need to apply to a bunch of places, but this is probably the worst time ever to be trying to get a job.
Fuck money. Another thing that really bothers me is that pennies are basically worthless. You can't use them for anything. You can't pay for parking or BART tickets or anything. They take too long to count out for buying things and if you leave them as a tip or give them to homeless people, it's sort of patronizing because they can't use them for anything either.
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I want to run away to the country and become a communist hippie. Do those really exist anymore?
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why
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly--
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxide, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
- Poppies in October by Sylvia Plath
dude, if that creepy guy who rung us up at tj's can get a job, there's no way they can reject you.
ReplyDeleteas i was posting that, i got this verification word. it must be some sort of omen.
ReplyDeletehttp://i43.tinypic.com/szhnys.jpg
HAHAHHAHAHAH that's unbelievable. must be good luck.
ReplyDeletei hate that guy!! he's so annoying. most people are really nice though. you need a return trip to get a normal experience. most of them don't sing at you i swear.
Wow vanessa you sound amazingly like...me. Fuck Money!
ReplyDeleteI met this guy who worked at Trader Joe's. You might see him. He has these weird cult looking patches on his jeans...and he has longish hair and he looks like he's from Oregon...because he is.
ReplyDelete