I had an agenda but I lost it in the snow.
My agenda was all about recovery.
I was going to recover everything I lost when I was abroad.
I came back with a calling card and a mission for inner peace.
But I only met troubled people along the way and they were really slow and on a totally different wavelength.
It's terribly hard to communicate with such people, because they don't go out of their way to act like a person they know you'll like.
It was so confusing I didn't know what to do.
I decided not to lie.
Obvious to everyone but me was I was invisible, and so no one really even saw me.
I wondered why they were nearly running me over, and no one sat down or complimented me.
I had an uncomfortable feeling these people weren't watching me.
They couldn't care less who I was or what I looked like.
In this place I was worthless, because I wasn't one of them.
They were all self-centered, loud, and annoying.
The playwright gave me some tools.
Now I can write my own lines using his voice.
I always have a come back.
I lose one crazy person and another instantly seems to replace them.
Isn't one crazy person, me, enough?
It's like, great I'm insane and so is everyone else.
If you focus on crazy long enough soon you'll find everyone is nutso.
And before you know it you'll be trying to get away from everyone.
I never wanted to live alone when I was younger.
My mother and I are okay, we hardly rub each other the wrong way.
If I rhyme or don't it's not really on purpose, she announced.
Typically the people in Colorado have terrible haircuts compared to L.A.
I feel like I fit in perfectly.
At least I have something to follow up.
The real lunacy is I have approximately one million things to do.
How can such an incompetent person have so much to do?
In cases such as this I typically get creative.
Since I'm wondering about something I'll let you in on Anna's world for a bit.
My friend, let's call him WR1 was just released from the psych ward.
He took the opportunity to text me as follows (no edits).
*SPOILER* He was charming enough to get my mom to say she liked him.
I for one will try to remain neutral.
"Hey, this is WR1. They finally let me out yesterday :)"
"Some seriously creepy people showed up after you left"
"All they did was fry my brain, then jack me up on adderall. I can't imagine how much 4 weeks is going to cost"
"I did, I thought it would be more useful than it's proving"
"Not particularly. I don't really feel any happier than when I entered the hospital"
"Of course I had to lie so they would release me...
"She was an odd girl"
"Her eyes were amazing"
"You were the one I was foolishly most hoping to sleep w during my stay lol...which was slightly distracting"
"You couldn't be celibate if you were wearing a steel chastity belt..."
"That's not creepy"
"So that month in the hospital really did nothing for me. I'm still 90% sure I'll be dying within the next two weeks"
"Meh. It's relative"
"I've got an American spirit in my mouth right now. I miss having a nicotine patch :D"
"I just happen to be unfulfilled by my current circumstances, a position which is entirely understandable"
"Walking the dogs in the snow. Just got back to the house"
"Where is here"
"Then you would have snow."
"I've decided adderall was a bad idea. I miss napping."
"I wish. It suits you and your cold heart ;)"
"A question you will undoubtably ask again"
"You never know. One day you may need the help of an attractive, intelligent, well spoken libra
I don't know what's going on in the coffee shop, but there are some athletic black men here apparently about to play some music, so I'm good.
These white Colorado boys are all so skinny and vegan looking.
Anyway, I thought I would flag WR1 here if for no other reason than he called me a sadistic bitch, which may or may not have been sarcastic, but I'm not exactly comfortable with it.
And I am officially going on the record to say I will be looking for friends without a diagnosis.
From the frying pan into the fire, into the firing pan into the flyer.
My least favorite thing is pretending to care who any of these people are.
They're all kinda trying to get my attention and I'm not really interested since I'm busy trying to figure out if this person texting me is psychotic, a sociopath, or both.
And anyway he might read this, but now he will know I took that into account.
Also, every guy I meet inexplicably touts himself as a computer genius.
It's like every one of them has built a computer in a creepy basement somewhere, or four.
And if they hacked the FBI database they definitely accidentally told me about it.
Oh and they are kind enough to fill my computer with ripped software that goes bad if I let them.
If I'm not grateful for the help I've gotten please reprimand me and next time I'll pass on the "help" and extra servings.
Actually I'll always pass on seconds.
In case you haven't noticed, life is less complicated with less food.
And by the way, this poem took me 30 minutes to write.
I'm being boring, sitting with my music blasting through my headphones.
For once really not trying to act cool.
I used to do that a lot, I would try to act cool.
And the result was I felt like sitting in a café with my computer was an effort.
After living in L.A. I don't think I'll ever have to act again.
I put in my ten years.
It's another type of calling card.
There are so many calling cards.
The "I was a model or an actress" calling card.
"I skipped a grade."
"I worked with famous people."
"I went to jail."
"I was in a psych ward, um, more than a few times." I have collected all of these cards.
"I have credits on imbd."
"I grew up in Aspen."
And my most recent and potentially very rare calling card. "My heart stopped beating for 20 seconds."
And on that note I get kicked out of the coffee shop, because I don't have five dollars for the Rastafarian group.
I am getting kicked out a lot today.
At least I'm used to it.
But I always come back.