I’m back to not sleeping again. I know I’m going to snap again. Its like being locked in a rollercoaster in a waking dream, knowing its going to end in disaster, unable to stop it.


I’ve gone through the scene so many times I’m almost sick of it. I’m in a room full of glittering strangers, and I have naked feet. Actually, I’ve kicked my shoes off so they can get the fitting right. Theres a whole entourage of them, they're all six feet tall and skinny and beautiful and have this AURA about them that speaks of their navy blue blood lines, fithly disgustingly stinking wealth, and their georgeous georgeous bubble encased lives. I obviously look horrendous because I’ve only just barely managed to sneak out of work, and instead of having the luxury of my car (my mother is having some lunch at our place) I come downstairs to find my father, ten miles and forty minutes out of his way just to pick me up from work, take me to the fitting, wait outside, then drop me back and then go on his way. Its so sweet, I can’t even say anything about his repulsive cigars choking me. I briefly mourne the days of arrogant youth, where I took such kindnesses as de rigeur. Maybe I have grown up a little.
They’re all having some bitchy conversation in between wasted and underutilized apple laptops and ciggarettes, and my fitting is all wrong, and the fucker of a tailor deliberately misses the zip and brushes my breast, then “accidently” fumbles with the measuring tape and gropes my ass. The third time he tries to bend his stupid white haired bony head to an inch of my chest, I tell him to back off. But I say it through gritted teeth, and in a low voice. Because I’m paying 25 grand for this bloody outfit, and he’s the bastard who has to stitch it. Because I don’t want to make a scene in front of the bitch parade. Because i need to come back here in the summer, and stand in line to order stuff for next year.
I almost wish he did something more concrete than shadowly fumblngs so I could then REACT and kick him in the balls or something. But he’s obviously been doing this a long long time, and I’m way out of my league.

I get dropped back, I’ve missed my lunch hour, and feel filthy beyond the humidity and general sweatiness of the weather.

And its yet another night where I lie awake, thinking.