franny
bananafish

that's me climbing the ladder onto the ledge, balancing on the tippy toes to get the last bit of fresh paint over the dodging corners. i can't remember what a bad day feels like, i can't remember the mushy good. i'm just swimming through, little fishy that i am, no more stuffing bananas and getting stuck in the hole again...

i'll be dog tired tomorrow morn, when i'll get up and take the slow trek to machines that bend me and mold muscle, squeeze those fat cells back down to a size 6, push the moody menstrual hormony troublemakers back to the feel good lounge...

i do it all on my own and it gets damned tiring. it'd be nice to have an extra pair of loving hands..someone to dry the dishes while i wash the muck.

i sometimes wonder if this is the way my life will be from now on. am i just here for this? to watch people come and go like eliot's women? (the coming and going) it's alright sometimes. and sometimes i just want to go back to mom. to the belly, to before i had lungs and a heart, back to before morula, before the egg and sperm.

there's one burning question i need to have answered before i die.

why does the country music station come in clear as a bell, even when i'm on mars?