I’m running out of ideas when I tell Jason that I’ll go to the bookstore, wear a beanie, and buy some Starbuck’s. I told him I’d do that. It was a good idea – and I’d buy his book – I’ve been meaning to pick it up. But then he told me that it was only available on barnesandnoble.com. “Dot com?” I say, and then, “…dot dammit.” My plans have vanished into oblivion, and I don’t know what to do with myself again. It’s not enough that I don’t want to be home – I have to not want to be home and have nothing to do. It’s just my luck. It’s the story of my life. It makes perfect sense. I guess though if things made sense and I always had a plan, I wouldn’t be me. But now that I think on it more, if things made sense and I always had a plan, nothing would make sense to me, and my plans would seem like more promises I don’t intend to keep, and I would be back in the place that I am now.

So far the “plan” is to stay at work late, and blast Function by Denali because it’s my new favorite song. I told JC I’d get TONS of work done – I added, “like, a truck-full.” When I think about things I say and things I do, I wonder if maybe I think I’m funny. Do you think that when you make a statement like “I wonder if, blah blah blah,” you have to use a question mark? JC says you don’t have to if the statement is a rhetorical question, and that makes so much sense to me – but then why didn’t I think of it? Like today when Alan showed me that picture of the one-way-glass port-a-potty. I told him that people would run into it (it’s made of mirrors) and then he said “you’d see yourself.” See, that makes perfect sense! Why did I think that a mirrored cell would cause you to run into it? “That’s like running into a mirror,” I told myself. “You’re so lame.”

I’ve been reading up on Misti again, and I wonder if she’s here in LA.(?) She talks about Old Town shops and being a Gypsy in Downtown LA, and I don’t know if I trust myself  – or my interpretations. Am I waiting to turn into Misti? Am I waiting to become anyone but who I am? It feels like I’m waiting for something, but I don’t know what it is – I’ve been waiting for it for as long as I can remember – and I guess I really am waiting to become someone I’m not. That makes sense. I’m waiting for my dad too, but waiting for him is like waiting for Godot – that stupid and ridiculous hope that drowns me – and now that I think more on it, it makes more sense to be waiting to be someone I’m not than it does to be waiting for him.

Last night I watched that E! Entertainment True Hollywood Story bullshit – it was Demi Moore this time. I am Demi Moore. That’s what I’m waiting for. I’m going to be rich, and then I’m going to move to a small town and fix up all the public buildings of the town, and everyone will respect me and my privacy and my kids’ privacy. Yes, that’s what I’m waiting for.

Okay, so. I’m so bored these days that I went to Sav-On to see if they sold anything with Ephedra in it. I wanted to see how my body would react to it. I found out later that Ephedra is illegal or something in the beautiful state of California. Just when I’m bored enough to build the nerve to try it, they go and ban it. F*** them! Yeah, f*** them! Just because people don’t know how to control their intake of Ephedra, doesn’t mean you have to ban it. That’s like someone dying of a caffeine overdose, or something, and then coffee gets banned. Holy-mother-of-f***ing-Christ…if coffee was banned, that would be a good reason for suicide. Anything is a good reason for suicide, though – if you justify it to yourself properly. Speaking of suicide (or, writing of suicide reminds me) I keep forgetting to get those two tattoos I want. Maybe I’m forgetting. Maybe I’m just chicken-shit, or maybe I’m broke – either one, I haven’t gotten the two new f***ing tattoos. Friends tell me, “No more tattoos. Remember the deep state of regret you were in when you got your first three?” And yes, I remember, but I am Mia, and I don’t learn from my mistakes, and maybe I WANT to feel regret! Maybe I want to feel something for once besides the illusions of love I have, and the ridiculous sadness that throws me overboard. Regret can be your friend, kids. Remember that, and don’t do drugs.

This Denali song is looping now, and I can’t stop it because it makes me comfortable in my skin. It reminds me of my drive home – that rural part where no radio stations come in and cell phone reception is crappy – there’s this part where you can see parts of LA, and parts of Glendale and Burbank, it’s so beautiful. Well, I always want to drive off the freeway at that part – there’s just a small amount of metal railing in my way – but I would be so free the last few moments of my life. I would be flying. I would be flying free over the world I know so well. Well, either that or at the last second, I would question the suicide, and it would be too late, so my last thought would be of indecision…which actually seems fitting for me.

“…and now it’s already over.”

Moonlight Sonata – play. Play and play, and play, and play. And then, in comes the angelic voice of Maura – sing and sing, and sing, and sing, and never stop because I don’t know what I’d do if you stopped because your song is the only thing that keeps me typing now…no control over my fingers – tap and tap, and tap, and tap and this is what you call a Blog, kids.