Saturday, July 01, 2006


Sometimes I don’t wash my make up off. On Friday nights, I don’t shower unless I have to be somewhere. I never have to be somewhere on a Friday night. I over pluck my eyebrows. I still haven’t gotten my wisdom teeth pulled because I am scared.

I’m afraid of the dark. I hate dusting. I’m just getting around to learning to separate my loads into lights, darks and colours. I let my cuticles grow far too long. I never fantasize about celebrities when I’m loving myself.

I don’t save money. I’m afraid of becoming my mother when I grow up. I’m lazy. I don’t eat enough fruits and vegetables. I hate pantyhose. I hate the word pantyhose. I don’t floss as much as I should. I swear. I’m satisfied when I clear a clogged pore.

I have stacks and stacks of back issues of Vogue even though I only flipped through them once. I keep nasty e-mails from people, just so that I can remind myself never to speak to them again. I never put my DVD discs away; they just sit in a pile on my bedroom floor.

I never file my pay stubs. I never open bills; I just guess at the amount (and usually pay more than I should). I have more than 30 pots of eye shadow, but really only use 5. I never drink milk. I’ve read my sister’s diary.

I never take advice, even when I asked. My sister unsuccessfully tried to talk me out of losing my virginity. I should have listened to her. I own several photo albums, but never get around to putting photos in them. I don’t fight for what I want. But I don’t give up.

I only listen to sad love songs when I am falling into or out of love. But I’m certain I’ve never been in love with someone; usually I’m just there by myself. I don’t always think about what I say, I just fix it later. I don’t own a cell phone. I don’t know enough people to pay thirty dollars a month to have something pretty, but useless.

I am picky about music. I’m pickier about food. I’m pickiest about men. Before I take a shower, I stand and critique myself in the mirror; my skin, my posture. I have no mind for politics. I lack patience with people. I’m self indulgent.

I hog the bed. I don’t work out. The thought of playing sports makes me nervous. Outings with big groups scare me and make me tired. As much as I don’t want to, I still gossip. I don’t like Stepford Wives; St. Albert Wives.

I like the idea of trying new things, but don’t like actually trying new things. I can be indecisive. I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I rely too much on hope and destiny. I admit too much when I’m drunk. I don’t lie, but I do cover up the truth. I never deal with things when they come up. I procrastinate.

I’m broken. Sharp jagged pieces. Flawed.

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