advanced limited edition

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. motherfuck.

i was telling liz the other day how the only thing about club work is that it's this constant tease, you know? people threatening to reveal themselves to me all night long, but with almost not a single true investment in any interaction.

by necessity i get about 45 seconds per person and they spend that time with me as their own representative. i do the same. it's the fucking polite thing to do.

there is this clue about who we are, you know? there are these hints we drop. but it's all the kinds of things we can reveal to someone that still keep us solidly behind whatever walls we've become accustomed to.

i'm just the door girl. i just take your money and stamp your hand.

when it's all over i fucking looooong. fucking craaaave. fucking fieeend.

for some real human interaction. anything really. any glimpse of what's behind all of that. i just need to know, at the end of a long night of dealing with representatives. i just need to know that people really do exist. that i really do exist, you know?

i have to go to sleep believing that not everyone is a ghost ship. that I'M not a ghost ship.

there has got to be some sort of late night support group i can join for this. some people who want to listen to and tell stories. and of course: actually invest the time to look each other in the eyes.

*********

god. nothing more serious than that. nothing more intense unless it's absolutely required.

i find myself at denny's, or sparky's, or some weird other places. i find myself bonding with the dude in the drive through.

i'll take what i can get for now. but something has to give.

how late do you stay up?

too late. i'm already the tiredest.

gnight.