things may be getting out of control

or i am realizing the inherent futility in attempting to maintain control and/or composure. consistent embarrassment and not realizing or remembering or being awake (for his 1130 call?)? what is this? when did this happen? when was this message left? at least i know your voice. at least that recognition. i've been too busy. or preoccupied with figuring out how to style my hair/whether or not my cat eyes my winged out liner is even (more important than you'll ever know). or drunk/hungover/unhappy/trying not to bother you. i try not to bother you a lot. it's one of my major driving forces. and yes, i use both the collective and the specific 'you' in this sense. god i can't write right now or never have been able to
there are moments
but there's so much work to do with not that much time to be smart or the perfectly clever red wine drinker i'd want to be. i don't even know who i'd want to be or what i'm being now.
this, here, another period of fuckinggoddamn transition. why wasn't i born a robot? why can't women just be seen and not heard? or children or maybe that's the problem all the or's and all my labeling/my lack of kayacking. it's true. and i'll start to spell things different ways before you stop me.
pow pow pow pow pow
my magic pony
my kum quat