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My Mother Says I'm Cynical. : 11.25.03 @ 11:28 pm

We all fancy ourselves writers, people who can weave words to create images and feelings in the reader�s mind.
We all fancy ourselves writers with a bit of talent, people who can attract a minor following to our blog, with daily readers and people who critique the lives that we lay in front of them.
In truth, we are all products of our own self deprecation and lack of self confidence. We thrive upon the readers, we use the internet as an outlet for our pain, our angst, as the bartender who serves up another cold one as we dwell in our own pathetic self pity, our own self-involved thoughts.

Or maybe that�s just me.

*
It�s getting cold here, more like November and less like early September to my Northern blood. I might actually have to start wearing a coat soon.
It�s a month until Christmas, but for the past three weeks the stores have implemented the capitalist feeding frenzy that is the Holiday season. Tease and taunt the masses with promises of joy and happiness at the hand of a credit card and a man in a jolly red suit. Watch, and shake your head sadly, as the suicide rate spikes after the Holidays.
When they realize that the presents, the money, the tree, the fucking turkey, does not buy happiness. Neither does the hours spent with the bickering, drunk, family who can�t even hold off the arguing and the bitching for the time it takes to open the gifts.
And there�ll be no Starbucks to escape to, as this is the one day that Starbucks closes its doors to the line of addicts wanting their daily fix.
A woman came in the other day, and was angered to find out that we weren�t open on Christmas.
She was planning a family outing, she said. Starbucks would be the perfect thing to top it off.
Of course, the baristas don�t have family to spend Christmas with. Baristas live at Starbucks, they never leave, and they sleep in the backroom so she can have her coffee on the moment�s notice.

*
My queerness scares me.
I�m afraid of letting myself be defined by my sexuality.
I�m afraid of being A Dyke instead of me.
I�m afraid that little crowbar of separation between my sexuality and my core will melt away, and it�ll be irreversible.

Yes, I�m a lesbian. But that�s not who I am.
The scary thing is, I don�t know who I am.

*
She hasn�t mentioned anything about... Saturday night/Sunday morning. I�m assuming that what It was was just two people who were horny at the right time in the right place and maybe we�ll do it again sometime.

*
No letter in the mail today from Bennington. I know, it�s only been two weeks since the due date passed, but I�m still anxious. As should be expected.
I did get another letter in the mail today, though. From my school.
I made Honor Roll for the first time in - well, for awhile.

/A

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