Russian Girl

I finished reading Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn. Paul lent it to me and it's the first book I've managed to finish reading in month.

Yesterday I went out for pie with Drew and some of his friends. He was running late, I beat him there, tearing into the parking lot blasting Black Flag's Damaged, windows rolled down. Waiting for him to arrive was awkward and uncomfortable. I felt unhappy and out of place.

I am obsessed with everything that I loved when I was in high school. The live version of "Davey" on Yo Yo A Go Go: Another Live Compilation, photos of Tobi Vail, the International Pop Underground, Beatrix Potter illustrations. I think a lot about tattoos that I want to get, but I am afraid.

About a week ago I had a crying fit. When I was 15 or 16 I memorized a piece called "Boy" from a Bikini Kill zine. About a week ago I cried in bed, alone, murmuring it to myself over and over even though I hadn't thought of it in years. It is a long thing to memorize -- longer than the preamble of the Constitution or someone's phone number. I sat in bed crying and whispering to myself, "I will never be what the world wants me to be or have sex right," hiccuping, "I will still bear the brunt of it."

Everything is very, very disjointed even though every day is basically the same.