bus

i sit and stare out the bus window for 45 minutes, there and back. over and over and over again. every day. i sit and i think, music blaring, book open in front of me...sometimes my mind wanders, sometimes obsessed with things. sometimes all i can do is analyze everyone else. i find myself looking at the small waists of other women, trying desperately to figure out how they do i, how they make it seems so easy...and i look at the fat chicks and i think, 'well, at least i'm not that bad...' but then someone else comes along to change my mind. how do they do it? howcome there are so many of them? they eat junkfood and drive everywhere and don't give a shit about anything and they're thin as rails. is henry rollins right? does lying give you cancer? is that why they're so thin? or is it pop culture? all thse years of diet poison, chemicals in the hair, skin, face, mouth...bad sitcoms and acne creams and beer and crying over terrible hollywood softcore porn. getting too drunk to remember what happened the next day at some frat party, driving your parent's car around, parties in the basement and boring sex in the bedroom when mom's not home. shopping at the gap, buying lunch every day. laughing about puking in the bar last saturday, getting your hair done, going on road trips on summer vacatin. is this the secret? a life of middle-class ignorance and neglect? get some kinda job where you "help people" in some kind of vague way, just enough so you don't really have to face reality. what would it be lke not to know how it feels to get a welfare check, or a smack in the face, or a punding between classes at school, or to have to listen to your parents screaming and screaming and screaming, tossing each other out of the house, the booze and the screaming, the endless fighting, words that sting over and over. you're so stupid. why don't you try harder. it's not that bad, get over it. i don't have time for you right now, hurry up. don't do your hair like that. do what i say. because i said so. because i'm your mother. just hit him back. don't hit your brother! i hate you! i never want to see you again! get out of my house you whore. don't talk to my little girl that way. you know better. he's supposed to beat you up, he's your brother. all it really said was; i don't care how you feel, now get off my back. now i wonder...does anyone really know or care how i feel, ever me? mother is the name for god on the lips and hearts of all children. so why did she have to be such a vengeful, aloof god, only giving love when the proper penances were paid. when she was in the mood. when she felt bad. always whenever she wants it. ha! family of origin issues, eh? don't we all.