10:21 p.m. | 2004-08-13
I Never Felt Those Options Anyway
My tires used to screech on the pavement. My glossed lips would be licked and would pucker as I sang along to the hard bass blaring out of my stereo.
Sometimes I'd have a cigarette in my hand, but I'd always have a devious grin on and my windows down. My hair tied back because, while it's prettier down, it would be blown around too much in the open air.
I pounded out the beat on my wheel, occassionally looking over, once and a while winking, and carefully planning my next move. Slow here, fast here, pass there. And where did it all get me?
It's not that I regret those nights. Thursdays, Mondays, some Fridays. They were all the same to me, new crouds, other vibes. Yet somehow basely I felt like such a loser. I knew that I was the one with a pretty car, yes, but no one in it. I felt that I had to prove myself. These people would have never had to deal with me had I stayed home. But staying home would have driven me to the edge.
I suppose I've always been one of those people. Who needed to pretend they were something else, something better. It makes me think, I suppose.
In other news, I've pondered taking pictures of my numerous paintings, and putting them on here. Who knows. Another form of validation, I suppose.
