Job interview today. I don't get all nervous like I used to, when I was younger and thought bullshit happened only sometimes. But I'd like to make a good impression, get hired, get more money and by this way distract myself from myself for a little while.
(more) Black skirt pulled from the bottom of a clothes pile, pick the lint off my good blouse. It's a nice gray and has tiny sharks on it. I got rid of my iron in a purge a few years back, before moving from a comfortable studio with a decaying balcony and 10-foot ceilings into this 3-room basement suite. I owned a lot that would never fit and spent weeks walking back-and-forth between my place and the Big Brothers donation bin at the corner. A big deliberate armful each time: books, pots and pans, domestic effigies like that iron. I've never owned anything I didn't love but even that's no excuse after a while for keeping everything.
Nevertheless, that old choice is why I don't have a way to iron my clothes today. I brush my teeth in the steamy bathroom and hope that way the wrinkles will loosen.
An online dating site needs secretaries. I shake hands with the girls; I've forgotten how bright are offices. I blink like a fish pulled into a boat. I recognize their types but I am not dismayed. Age has taught me this: those shining girls do not cancel out the reality of others, like me, with one set of fancy clothing and - I just notice this, oh Jesus, this is comical - bicycle grease on my knee.
So I will not have a call back even though I answered every question. I have the right answers for some people but not for people like this.(less)
This is where the sidewalk ends
Our little red ball has gone over the edge
Children keep their innocence in a bag
Broken and pieced together with glue and wire
Hoping to get a few more years out of it
(more) Before the batteries die, and
The magic wears off
We can never go back home
It’s never quit as warm
The cold chill of reality slowly
Creeps in like a draft in your old
Playtime, we could be anything, everything
We had the world on a string, but
Who held the scissors?
Now the toys are in the attic
Our innocence in the ground
Glimmer of hope replaced
With chains and padlocks
I see the laughter of these children
And I wonder
When does that feeling leave us?
The shackles of youth?
But, that was the last time we were truly alive (less)