Every day is a challenge, for every man, woman, child, and being that prefers to not be labeled as any of those things. Every day is a challenge for a chipmunk. A few days ago, on May 13th to be exact, I was enjoying a day at the Bronx zoo with my booty partner, Lindsey Baker. We were walking from the Congo Forest to the Children's Zoo (which was closed) when out from a bush came a running two little chipmunks. I squealed "Lindsey, look!" While grabbing her arm. And this caused Lindsey Baker to turn, quickly, on her heels and scream directly into the faces of these two chipmunks, who then turned around very fast, as if to say "what the hell is YOUR problem," and run back into their bush. This probably ruined their whole day. God only knows what happened to them the day before, or even the day after.
I am currently writing a book about how I have very nearly been (like more than 95%) fired from every job I've ever had. By writing this book I mean that I made an outline for it, then opened up a Word Doc, titled it, pressed "save as," and went on to do something else. And by "I have very nearly been fired from every job I've ever had, I mean just that. Being fired from these jobs never has anything to do with quality of work. And that's a truth that I can actually say without a twitchy face or a sweaty brow. Work is not, has never been, will never be, the problem. Before I ever had my first real job at the age of 14 (which I was fired from) I would load up my red wagon with various items from my room, and rocks from the yard that I had painted gold, and cart them around from home to home and try to sell them. When people would open their doors and then send me away, not purchasing, and sometimes even mocking my wares, I would always think to myself, as I was walking away with my wagon, "well, they just must be stupid." And it is THAT, that very thought, that very seed of a world view planted by who knows who (Oscar Wilde? Madonna?) that has led me to be the hardest working, but most virtually unemployable person that has ever walked on two feet. Simply: any bit of feedback, any "note," or "edit," will be silently, or not silently, returned with "you must just be so very stupid." And I will usually be right. And hey, even if I'm not right, who cares? This is my life, and my play to be cast. I'm going to be dead in 50 years, and that is not that far away.
In February of this year, I stopped being friends with my best friend of over 20 years because she Facebook messaged me that she no longer has time to be concerned with the ins and outs of my life (I guess she meant my wall posts?) and that I am the most high maintenance person she has ever met. I read her words while thinking about the time she told me she could not celebrate my 16th birthday with me because she and her boyfriend Kevin had plans. She was my only friend. I thought about this, read her message again, and then wrote back that perhaps she should go fuck herself. Her last reply to me was "have a nice life," and mine to her was "that seems to be the pattern." I have not spoken with her since. I do not need a friend. I would like a friend who loves me in the same way, and with the same quality, that I love them. There is no getting around this. I am a wild beast. I can watch you from this tree. I can watch you from Facebook. I could also just read a book, quietly in my apartment. I will not play a game or cry a cry to try and make someone see how they have loved me wrong. This is my one life, and it will be over in 50 years, and if I should happen to have been wrong, well then I won't know anyway. We are all dumb animals. We do not know what we're doing. We're very busy.
Sometimes, walking from my apartment to the train, or from the train to a place, I will make a game out of deadening my eyes so that the people walking around me become blurry and look like varying colors of obstacles. I don't meet anyone's eye. If someone bumps me, I'll make a noise like "wheeee!" or "ughhhhhhh!" And sometimes, if someone is walking too slowly in front of me, I will bark like a dog at their feet. Usually when I do this, the person won't acknowledge that it's happened. But if they do, and look at me in an attempt to make sense of what happened to them, I just look at a spot on their face and smile. I am a wild beast. I cannot have a job. I cannot have a friend. But I know what is right, though I never find it, and I am in love. And I can work.
I have fantasized on several occasions about being at a time and place where someone is in need of help, and I'm the only one there to help them. Like Ryan Gosling. Not like Ryan Gosling needs help, or maybe he does, that would be cool too, but like I am saving someone from being taken out by a Taxi Cab like he did for that woman in NYC not too long ago. I would be there, and the right time, at the right place, and I would recognize a need for help, and I would help at the exact, perfect moment that help was needed. I would injure myself to do this, if need be. I would risk my own life to do this, if need be. I would do it. I would nail it. I would do a very very good job. I would do it so right. The most right that anything could ever be done right. I do a good job. I always do a good job. And I'm in love.
