Sudafed is full of speed, so I am on the mend! Crowned a week of drinking with 48 hours of bed-ridden sickness; these things don't do wonders for one's immune system, or so I hear. It's all been so unbloggable: illness, illicit friendships, broke-pocketed couchbound hours watching Mad Men...and a little bit of bingo.
Took a trip with some punk babes to the VFW Hall, with some ironic distancing. I was charmed by old timers set-ups of lucky trinkets but unnerved by their pull tab habits. I guess I'm not all in. The realization that a person can chase all sorts of addictions--some of them non-chemical.
Class is in the picture. Been considering the extent to which class background makes a difference. I'm poor now but wasn't raised that way. I go to the depressing poor person depression clinic cuz that's where the chips have fallen. Where do I get off being so entitled? Feeling like the clinic's decision to stock a months-old copy of the New Yorker in their waiting room is condescending. Snarling at the down-and-outers sneezing on the mousepads in the sneezy public computer labs where I compose this blog.
I'll try to do better. A self-made woman, pulling herself up by her bootstraps. A work in progress, scene missing.
A true 'merican story.
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