ithinkyoureswell.com: the blog.

ah yes, net surfer, it looks like u n i have been caught cruisin on the same wave, no? a hit of my billabong? no? u think ure gonna hurley? yah? i like ur style.

so. u dunno a lot about me, idk a lot about u, but while we’re hangin 10 ima hang out w/ my angst out. im graduatin in like 3 wks? my peter pan syndrome got a professional slap in the face today, n it’s lookin like it’s gonna hafta get knocked the frick out by sallie mae pretty soon.

i started a job on wall street today (w/ a non-profit LOL), well i was supposed 2 start 2mor, but the early bird gets the worm, or @ least the prime cubicle. anywho, i was the only 1 a) sportin a backpack b) hungover c) wearin shorts under my dress (last one’s more of an assumption than fact tho). every1 was wearing those rly ugly black “business” slax, yknow, the kinds that look like tapered jncos for adults n it made me wanna die. there was no music, just the sound of my stomach wrastlin w/ a tequila ghost.

i know not ALL offices are like that. @ my other job, i can smell like a marinated malt liquor steak, wear a dingy sweatshirt, n listen to sean kingston while my 65 yr-old boss asks me what my fav use of “fuck” is in a song, n how 2 use “bumblefuck” in a sentence. but that’s a smaller non-profit in Harlem that seems 2 be an anomaly even among other similar agencies in the field of prison reform, as far as offices are run.

what i’m sayin is i don’t want some closet full of slax n silky blouses, n big fancy purses full of cereal bars and dayplanners. i guess i’ve always had a pretty bad case of peter pan syndrome, n this feels like my final frontier. when i got my period, i kicked a wall then ate some candy. when i had 2 apply 2 college, i waited until 2 nites b4 the deadline to do it, n took the SATs hungover.  i guess i always adjusted, but dang i just felt so old n washed up sittin @ that desk starin @ the beige wall 2day, listenin 2 some bitch w/ flatbutt talk about makin fajitas.

when bikin home, i started thinkin, what about if i did what my uncle did? just picked up n biked across the country? but i got loans 2 pay back, rent 2 pay, i guess… social obligations? but that i mean im kinda tired of the party scene too, watchin wack bitches tryna act famous, some of my bffz switchin gears from goofy twerkin 2 social netwerkin. i guess things change 2 fast 4 me, beeziez change n disappoint me, im sick of friends callin just 2 ask “wHeRe Da PaWtY @??” or even worse, “wHeRe Da PaWtY @ n WhOs GuNnA bE tHeRe??” i dont care about designer dudz, ur bevy of beeziez, ur need 4 (celeb) speed.

so yah as i was ridin home on the bridge, the gr8 silver stallion (J train u dummy) started racin me, n i kinda wished i could hop on a train n just leave. n that got me thinkin of the friends i’ve met, pepitos i’ve encountered, that hop trains. wondered where they wound up, if it was just a phase for them, if maybe it wasn’t.

all this ish also reminded me of the work of a certain photographer, monsieuuur mike brodie, aka polaroid kidd, who started off takin pix of his friends n became a documentary photog of “travel culture.” i was originally gunna write my senior thesis on the fetishization of homeless, n a convo w/ larger housing issues n the question of access, n planned 2 use his werk as a popular example of this fetishistic ish. of course vice had sum show up of his ish a while back, yaddayadaadyady…here are some of my favesiez by said dude…

when i was a sassy chicky in high school, my mom said i made things hard on meself cuz i was so resistant 2 structure. idk if that’s the case anymore, now i’m just on my sleepy steez. i think it takes a certain amount of resilience n conviction 2 choose 2 live the life a lotta these kids in the photos do. tryna live outside the law seems to take more effort than just acceptin it. sometimes i feel rly low, thinkin of the direction i feel myself headin. sometimes i feel like every1 else adjusted, took on some sense of direction n duty, took care of themselves, planned 4 the future, n i’m still here; i’m just so alone.

gettin ur blankets wet since ‘88,

meggie