cages

"I'd rather be lonely. I'd rather be free..."

Right now there is $11,000 sitting in bank accounts that belong to me. It's college money and wedding money.
But how much interest do I have in college or marriage?
I'm sitting in my stupid lingerie outfit with a headache the size of a small impoverished nation, wondering how things worked out this way.
I remember the day I was proposed to, the horror of it. The only thing that kept me from bolting headlong from the car and sprinting down the darkened streets was him. But even that doesn't seem like enough anymore.
And the words, the pledge I made on the dock with shaking legs...
"Sure. I guess."
With vomit churning in my guts, with my throat closing, with my heart hammering frantic in my chest.
It all inspires me to terror. Wedding invitations, dresses, deadlines. I discuss them with the people involved, again longing to escape the room.
"Congratulations" Mozel-fucking toff.
People tell me I have cold feet.
My whole body is numb.
My heart is cold.
What can I do?
Do I walk down an aisle, sign some papers and carry-on?
Do I run away again? To find myself alone and unhappy?
Why is Jenny Lewis singing the same line to me over and over again?
"I'd rather be lonely, I'd rather be free..."

The Perks of Being a Hermit

1. The house is in shambles, but no one complains. I haven't done dishes in at least a week.
2. I can play whatever music at whatever volume that I desire. Whenever.
3. The isolation stimulates my urges to write, read, paint and play music.
4. Being naked around the house.
5. Singing badly and feeling no shame.

There are drawbacks of course, but overall it's a good deal.
After much deliberation, I am postponing my escape from the Tri-Cities until March.
It's only September.
March is so very far away.
But it provides me much time to accrue finances and employment.
Currently I have no idea how to live on my own and file tax returns.
I guess I had better learn. I won't be receiving a scholarship. Haha.

Today I nearly chopped off all of my hair.
Don't know why.
I started on my bangs and progressed to the split ends. Then I held the scissors poised to snip off my orangey-blonde-red locks. To my chin.
I think it's madness as opposed to an attempt to be trendy. Sometimes I look at a day and become horrified that it is exactly like all of the others. Sometimes I feel like my reflection should change, should reflect something behind the mask of skin, teeth, hair.
It never really does.
So I, driven by boredom, attack my hair with scissors or bottles of dye.
Maybe I'm just trying to change myself.
Maybe it's like the guy in Silence of the Lambs who is sewing a woman suit. He thinks he is a transsexual, but really he just hates himself so intensely that any change seems preferable. But even if he managed to become a woman, he would still loathe the person inside of packaging.
What a useless struggle.
How many hours are wasted away longing for a better body, a different color of eyes, a more sultry voice?
When the things we can actually change (maybe) are just solidifying with every passing year.
Until our faults and hatreds are embedded so deeply into our personalities that it is nearly a lost cause.
That said,
I'm really resisting the urge to cut off my hair still.
If I just keep typing and prattling on...I'll keep the demon at bay.
But I'm running out of material.
I finished Perks of Being a Wallflower again today.
I love that book so fucking much.