So Happy To See My Dad

I am all settled into my dad's condo and it is beautiful. big. spacious. perfect lighting. marble. walk-in closet. and his car, my god his car is beautiful. red. shiny.

listen to myself. i stay here a little longer and i'll become a cart-pushing housewife with rollers in her hair. i got a glimpse of the kind of life i would've had if we hadn't up and packed to hong kong: driving to the supermarket. tv.

but i would've had the lazy suburban days and the chance to be .... the stuff that I always sit and wail for.

tomorrow my dad is taking me to the golden gate bridge. monday i get to see stanford and go job-hunting. tuesday (lovely tuesday) i'll take the caltrain to san francisco proper and die happy on haight street: sweet amoeba music and happy hippie love.

i want to watch 40 days & 40 nights. SF love.

I started my zine in the air today. it makes me so very very happy to have her. it's so much fun. although putting my words on something that may be seen by foreign eyes always has me shrinking to the shadows.

i painted my nails poppy-red and it got all over my hands. looks like i am bleeding.

Why I Can Never Use The Word Crash Again
(All Around Us #11)
It's the sense of touch. So starts the world's most overrated movie. It's the sense of touch and people fall over themselves fawning, screaming yes yes yes like it's sex or something. what a lying bastard. what does he know about the sense of touch? what does he know? when i'm on the A train and a fat lady sits next to me i want to slither down onto the floor and say thank you, bitch, thank you for ruining the only time in my day i have to rest my legs. oh and when i'm sitting in my cubicle and some gossip girl is leaning over me touching my shoulder asking what's the matter and do i want some tea, i feel like slapping her fifty dollar manicure away and screaming, no bitch. i am forced to touch sweaty people everywhere i go. i am am met with the forceful shouder of the business suit, the fried-chicken essenced hand of the woman who will die of joint diabetes and heart disease, the little kick administered by the three year old brat with a trust fund. no, man, just no. you have no idea what you mean when you say the sense of touch. the sense of touch has me shivering in my spot hoping to god that i don't have to rub past another hand that's been god knows where and won't tell me.