7:30 p.m. - December 18, 2001
admonishing the future
I think, given my current mindset, that no one should be allowed to roam the streets in my general vicinity wearing giant pink heart hairclips on their hat. Also, one's friend's lover should not pause in his loverly antics to bite one on the shoulder and growl viciously.

English Assignment Number: Ad Nauseum (am I simply too uncreative to post every day without some help from returned homework assignments?) Regardless:

A Letter To Myself Ten Years From Now
Don't you give me that look; I know what's running through your mind. You're thinking, complete with all-knowing smirk, 'How could you have been so idealistic?' I know that's exactly what you're thinking; and I know this because I can track my own cynicality, assuming that is a word, growing exponentially year by year. At 27, my God, you must be a fucking rock by now. I feel sorry for you. What opportunities have you shut yourself off to since now, by being too bullheaded to cooperate? Too precise to just go with the flow? Too stubborn to lt people help you? Ill tll you something, you'd better not be stuck in some office job, nine-to-five, crappy pay, little heels and business suit, the whole office hierarchy looming about you just waiting for its dick to be sucked, all the way to the top. You'd better not. And if I were to look inside your home, I'd better see your music equipment, electronic, acoustic, or otherwise, whatever is appropriate for your muse and the time, because if you threw it out, I will fucking kill you. You say I'm idealistic now, I bet you're laughing, shaking your head at your past and its pathetic little smashed hopes, but I'll tell you something, if they're smashed, it's you who smashed them. At least I've got a reason to look forward to tomorrow, some kind of hope that maybe one day something I do will matter. I'd rather be me, wishing and striving, creative energy spiling out all over the place, overemotional and all its repercussions, than be you, angry and resentful, coiffed clothes and coiffed mind, ever, ever cynical. You probably sold your music equipment to finance some long term savings-bank-type-thing, and to that I say: fuck you yet again.
You can be angry, but don't just sit and do nothing about it; don't just settle. Settling is for people who've give up. You can write and think what you wrote sucks, but don't let that stop you from writing it. You may think your music is going nowhere, but don't let that make you stop composing it. You can have a boring job to tide you over if you want, but keep looking for a better one, and for god's sakes don't suck so much dick to get to the top. Do something honourable for a change. I can't have you sitting on your regulation-length-skirted-ass, , whining about the world and never doing a damn thing about it because you are too lazy, and stagnant, and cynical to be bothered. I cannot have that.
If you're reading this and you're thinking to yourself, "she's fucking got me pegged, but what's wrong with me?" then I suggest that you might as well put on your business suit and pumps and walk on over to the nearest bridge and jump the railing. Or you can shake that fucking smile off your face and make some changes. Your choice.

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