I am drowning in lusting-over-the-anticipation-of-photo-copies. I want this zine to be over and done with, already. I love photo-copies. I do not know why. I'm not even 100% sure of the content, really. I want this to be finished and sitting pretty in envelopes equipped with stamps. I want to only have to wait for single dollar bills in the mail and then scribble addresses and toss these puppies in the mail. I want distros to write about me. I want to be able to write hard enough to devour people. I want them to get words stuck in their heads. I want my zine to make people wear prom dresses to the grocery store. I want to dress up. I want to spend my whole morning after I wake up sipping tea, waiting for a telephone call, and typing.
I went to the ice cream parlour and dropped off my application. My father said to look for the woman laughing the most, chubby. When I walked in, I see all of this neon ice cream and only one customer and everything is nice and pastel and new-feeling and this woman is laughing with every person she encounters (the old woman buying a cake, the girl working in the back of the store, me) and she has this Southern accent that seems so warm that it might as well be a Northern accent. This sounds wrong but it's right. She writes down when I'll be able to work and tells me I probably have a job but she's calling tomorrow to give me the scoop. ICE CREAM HUMOR. Actually she didn't say she'd "give me the scoop" but that's what she IMPLIED and ... oh shucks.
My hours might be "the suck" for a little bit - 4pm-11pm, which is when I usually spend time with The Boy (mostly every other day or so) and I can't really spend time with him before or after those times - but it'll be worth it because before I know it I'll be driving myself around and then I can work mornings instead. And we can go places together. And I will have money to save up so we can leave North Carolina together for weekend adventures. And oh.
Previously, everything I got worked up over [job at the school - being an office girl - getting my permit the first time around - traveling directly after graduating high school - opening up a checking account - you get the point] didn't pull through, but lately everything seems to be fitting together. It sounds lame and quaint, but, you know, I'm 18 years-old and maybe right now I just need lameness and quaintness.
I've been peeking into halation's chap book; wanting to read and not wanting to read because I'm making myself write The Zine soon and I do not want to be influenced, etc., as her writing is extraordinarily eloquent and vivacious and I want my own things to bloom first and I don't want to get into the rhythm of her writing and then write my own words to said same rhythm. I limit how I grow. Little fences.
Today was good until the argument with my sister. She went to sleep happy-sounding and not talking to me and I feel guilty being hopeful and excited and trying-to-feel-okay-about-my-body.
The Boy reminds me of how I am doing all of these things to set myself up as a not-a-child now and I cannot get set off by spats. Everything will be okay. He got me the number for the French restaurant in case I couldn't remember it. I read it off to him over the telephone and he may still have it written on his hand but probably not.
A) feel awful to the point of stomach-aching B) want to hide for a very long time C) want to be very, very skinny tiny unrecognizable invisible not around here hidden pretty far away unhealthy D) want to be apologized to first [or even at all] for once E) stupid F) cliché
My father phoned a few minutes ago; says he was delivering mail at Carvel and the woman working there was complaining about being understaffed. He mentions that I have been looking for a job and she asks if I have any experience. He says, "Oh yes - she loves ice cream." Bahaha. The woman gave him an application and says that when it's time for her to talk to me, she'll just hire me. It'll do for now.
We go grocery shopping and load up our backpacks; black and pink. We stumble upon the old French restaurant that closed a few months ago. The shopping center is opening another one; Saint Jacque's? This makes me tsk-tsk but remember the phone number; 862-2770. Employment oppurtunities; opening in October. That is such a long time, but it's a back-up.
Someone said we don't celebrate the 8 things we did accomplish in one day but rather toss and turn over the two things we didn't. I'm having that sort of day.
I want to set the world straight.
In other news, I'm determined to make a zine. Mentally physically emotionally I think I'm ready. I'll have a little advice column, and I think you should e-mail me with questions. But don't. Because. I have to sort things out and by the time it was published, these answers would be obsolete. But think of some questions. And, I don't know. Make up faux scenarios. "MY FRIEND BOBBY SAYS MY FRIEND CINDY IS HAWT BUT I HAVE LIKED BOBBY FOR SEVEN YEARS, SINCE HE ACCIDENTLY FATHERED MY BABY, JEREMIAH B. FROGG."
Keep yourselves busy and sane.
P.S. Don't you hate it when people write "Love, ________" in their LiveJournals? It always annoyed me, especially when someone would post a link to their LiveJournal name afterwards. [I'm sorry, I'm not trying to point you out, guy-whose-name-starts-with-an-'O'-who-posts-pictures-of-sunsets.]