Wednesday, February 18, 2004

On the camping trip, in the cabin, I changed my clothes and laid for a second, halfway sitting up on the bed, butt-naked. My long legs stretched to the other end of the bed with my feet down, and I straightened my back to pick up my clothes when my friend, in the cabin, remarked that her contacts were out (and her eyes blurry) and I looked like a mermaid.

A mermaid, lying on the bed naked, sitting halfway up and straightening her hair before heading out into the world.

Holy mackarel.

That rocked.

(When Leslie saw me in the all, it was less significant; more sexual and less... sacred. I felt, and I hate to say it, cheapened. If I had to choose between being a whore and a mermaid, I'd be... waaaahhh! I'd wanna be a mermaid, but the sacred prostitute is still an ideal to which I aspire. It's like, with my extravagant personality, I have to be the most ideal woman in the world; and to me, that woman is a prostitute, catalyst to the global machine.)

(So I guess the moral of the story is, be yourself, and don't expect too much out of your own human capacity.)

(And stop using so many god-damned parentheses.)
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