The Hipster Brigade
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
 
one less day of being in misery

when i wake up, i can still feel last night's headache. my muscles ache from sleeping all night. i feel like my body is collasping in on itself. the next syep is surely self destruction. i'm ready for novacaine.
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i've been set to this room before. it's the size of the discipline corner in kindergarten except this time i don't have to wear a hat. i look around the room. i'm not in the mood for babies, couples or the handicapped. bible stories lie under the coffee table. "miss reagan?" i answer "mm hmm" from across the room. we are basically face to face anyways. "could you please come the window?" i don't see how going to the window is going to keep what you have to say to me secret. i can hear everything you say to everyone else at the window. she shuts the glass on my face. i walk two steps and sit down.

i just know that if the baby cries, i'm going to lose it. i survey the room again. my weapons: good housekeeping's and sports illustrated's thrown like ninja stars, boring into your forehead. i feel a little better.

the lady with crutches takes up more than her alloted space. she speaks loudly into her cell phone. it plays "yankee doodle dandy" twice and i just know i'm going to lose it.

a teenage boy steps into the reception area with his mother. he is carrying a notebook and i feel at ease with a kindred soul. he also has moby dick. i watch him. he opens up his notebook and i can see him hesitant with words. then 123 they pour out. just a trickle. i wonder if he's writing about how small the room is like me or he's writing about Ishmael. he looks at me, i smile back.

i think about sex. they call my name. they apologize for running a little late. i nod my head.
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i wonder what the doctor would say if he caught me masturbating in the dentist chair. "oh, um...i'll come back later." instead, i watch an airplane fly by outiside the window. i imagine it catching on fire and crashing into the tiny room. the baby on fire. i want to play the hero.

i'm (almost) twenty-two. i've had two root canals on the same tooth. the "black dot" is getting smaller. he can't assure me of anything. he shakes my hand and orders me back in four months. "truly, madly, deeply" plays overhead. i think about sex in the ocean.

i know where i'd rather be.
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