Skinny Jeans

You need to buy a suit for interviews. You don't own a suit?

No, I don't, I just purchased my first pair of skinny jeans this week. No one in my life has died or gotten married. I suppose I was raised business casual my entire life. The idea of owning a suit terrifies me, spending $600 dollars of this money I don't have. How does that happen? How can that happen?

I'm down to my last Ambien. The second to last is currently working its magic in my body. Prepare yourself from the insomnia to return in full force. I've been working on improving it. I still have melatonin, but that leaves me feeling so groggy in the mornings.

I have been reading about Stephen Sondheim non-stop this week. A biography on his life and his art. For the paper I plan to write for my 20th Century Theater Class. I have found a new Sondheim song, one that I've know existed for years, but ignored cause it wasn't big and flashy. Anyone Can Whistle though speaks to me terribly. So terribly.

What's hard is simple,
What's natural comes hard.
Maybe you could show me
How to let go, lower my guard, learn to be . . .
free.

I lack social graces that allows for this song to ring true. This week coming will be filled with midterms and wondering what is going to happen with my life. I guess I need to work on buying that suit. For without a suit, it seems you'll never get anywhere in the world.

I know the suggestion was to help, but it was said as if there was a balanced idea behind it. A rule that everyone knew, besides me. I know the good intentions that were behind it as well. Oh I do.

I feel off these days. As if I am existing just to be erased from memories. I can't seem to connect with people on levels that I wish I could connect with them on. I feel this longing to be loved and supported, but constantly encounter roadblocks. Each week goes by and draws closer to impending graduation.

Oddly enough, I feel these months may hold some change for better or worse. Against all will, the hands of fate will carry out their vile plans. I can try to deter the immediately consequences, but the gears that are turning, have been turning for far to long.

I was speaking with The Escort who is moving to CT into his John's house to live rent free and do school work. He also fixes the house and such. He'll be in the city taking classes, but I told him that I know so many homos our age who are leaving. He corrected me and told me he wasn't leaving.

IGUANA: Not all of us have a house in CT we can move into that is rent free.
ESCORT: You have your parent's house, don't you?

Now I was caught off guard with the notion that my parents are existentially my John. That a man who used to fuck this guy is graciously helping his life by letting him move into his house in CT and live for free. While if I moved home to upstate NY. I would not only be forced to get a job, I would have to pay rent for my room and I would ultimately throw myself in front of a truck!

That's the Ambien talking, I think.

No, my prostituted little friend. Our lives are not under the same category. It's fun to pretend, but they will never been.