January 2006

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Cleaner.

Yes, it’s stolen, but I still love it.

I am undefined.

I’ve sat through half a dozen interviews already. Each morning, I’m surprised to see the woman that would emerge from the closet in a perfectly pressed gray suit. She had on make-up and pearls and each strand of hair tucked in its place. Who is she, and where did she come from?

It reminds me of being nine years old and playing dress up in my basement. Except then, I was wearing fabric-by-the-yard togas and pink feathered boas. My shoes, though, are still a little too big. Fourteen years later, and I’m still pretending. Who am I today?

I’m tired of smiling. I’m tired of little breakfasts and neat lunches. Of coffee, no cream, and tours of the same small corridors. Each hospital is a xerox of the one before. Enough business cards to build a paper house. Each interviewer, the same questions. I’m tired of listening to myself. This perky, confident woman crammed into 20 minutes is not me at all. She’s driving me nuts.

And then, one day amidst all this, I turned one year older and supposedly one year wiser. I woke up in a strange hotel room on my birthday, completely disoriented and ridiculously hungry. So this is what it’s like to be grown up.

Away.

If, again, you wander,
If, too soon again, you wander
Far away, far away…

Let this, too, be with you,
An old tune somewhere within you–
Far away, far away…

–Duncan Sheik, Far Away

I shall have gone away for this while. I have gone to sell myself to establishments of snake oil and pageantry. But big plans when I slip back to familiarity. One of these things is not like the other. Which is it? Which is it?

Upgrade! *crosses fingers*