Coffee. Coffee's keeping me alive. Taurin-based drinks are now out of the question because apparently they're diabetic poison. Go figure.
I'm living a double life. I play pretend from 11 to 2, a makeshift "9 to 5" job that pays everything my monthly allowance doesn't. Trustfund baby, some would say. Spoiled brat, perhaps. A job is not a job because of the job itself, but because of the money. Money makes things easier.
When work's over, my Sister and I return home and have lunch. We talk about everything and nothing, I spill my secrets to her like they were just words, with no meaning or background. She says nothing. Gives advice, shows that she cares, shares her own secrets...it's my confidence time.
let's go back to my job. If you put it into perspective, it's the greatest job in the world: three hours a day, five days a week, shredding documents and stacking boxes that give you mild allergies for 100 pesos a day. That makes 500 a week. If you add it to the money they gave me for my birthday, it's quite a bit. Money, money, money. And I have gifts to buy. And things to get.
Money to spend, in the end.
Coffee, coffee. I hadn't had coffee in weeks. The cup is cold and it tastes funny, but coffee's coffee.
The spinning and whirring of the paper shredder give me ideas. I want to build a massive shredder. A people shredder. I know who I'd put in it, and how I'd make it. Blood would be filtered from the crushed bones and squishy flesh, and poured into...well, poured somewhere. Gruesome but effective, no one would recognize the bodies.
Part Ramona Flowers, part Amanda Young and part Lisbeth Salander. In the facade of little vampire Claudia.
I want to change the world in many levels. I want to discover something, but I also want to leave a scar on the face of Earth, in the common record of humanity. I want to be known for having made good, but feared for my crimes under a name that no one will ever relate to me. No one would ever know.
Polyamori. It will work for me.
But I still want to be the favorite. Her favorite.
Blue hair and a dragon tattoo. Cutting and licking off my own blood. ADD and some kind of autism, a total submersion in my own little word.
I want to write. I'm getting a portable recorder to keep track of my ideas and then write them out. It should work, I've always been a talkative one.
The dark skinned man caught my eye. And he's supposed to be around my age. Handsome, brings Claire memories of an old crush, an unrequited love that never went past silent admiration and fear of rejection.
And then we wonder why we don't get laid.
The heart keeps them locked and watched, never wanting to let go. But the body begs for attention that it can no longer get for itself. The burning touch of a foreign heart. The thrill of physical intensity. Nice to meet you, now get the fuck out, you're not the one I love. "A full-body dildo", Amanda would say.
Ranting helps inspiration. It won't come any other way.
I'm going to kill my father on a story. Or watch him die. And I'm kind of excited about it. I already have his tape:
"Hello, Jorge, and welcome to your test. Right there, on the other side of that window, your daughter is sitting, connected to a device that will end her life if she moves. Her death, however, would bring you effortless salvation, a salvation that, in my judgement, you don't deserve. All the times you've sat back and watched her suffer, using the things she confides you as a weapon to get what you want, never caring about anyone's well-being but your own. Today, you'll pay for your actions. You'll have to fight for your life, or put your trust on the daughter you've neglected and hurt for nineteen years. Live or die, Jorge, it's your choice."
Not like he'll know. Or care.
"Is she not right? Is she insane? Will she now run for her life, now that she's lied to me?"
I'd run for fun.
I'm too much woman for just one person to handle. I've been told. I believe it. And I like it. Too many faces of one alone. And then too many girls in one. Too much for someone normal. Too much for even myself.
Sometimes I'm that mess people feel fascinated and repelled about. Almost like a room in an abandoned house, or the abandoned house itself. Like a horror movie, you're scared of being scared but you can't help liking it. A little escape from reality. An overload to the senses and the mind. When handled right.
I kind of crossdressed today, and I look like a very cute boy. With red nails, but that came later. This morning, I was a very cute twelve year old boy. A guilty pleasure on cold days.
So, to sum it all up:
- I'll write something good, discover something important about how people who speak many languages think and feel.
- A job nowadays is like going to the toilet: we hate it, it's fucking nasty and a waste of time, but it's necessary to survive.
- I got a pair of kick ass boots. And it's fucking cold down here, so I get to wear whatever the fuck I want.
- I'll play Ramona for a bit, where my looks are concerned.
- Polyamori may only work while I'm 19, but I firmly believe that whatever comes out of it will be the best for us.
- Blue IS my color. And red, too.
-Putamadre, la amo como no tienen idea. Nadie.
-c'est finis
