Where's the burning bush? I wondered.
But I was on the boardwalk at Venice beach. Some muscle boys in track suits were seducing an audience of fat mid-westerners with their gleaming chocolate skin and back flips.
Nobody noticed that she sat down next to me. She looked like she hadn't slept for centuries. Neither had I. Daddy is suicidal again. My best friend let me down. I have existential anxiety again. And zits. I don't know which is the worst. (I pretend here to be a goody-two-shoes kind of girl, but I am vain as hell.)
Like; where are you going and where have you been?
And this is what she said to me. My jaw fell down and hung open like a broken mailbox.
She took my hand in hers and my fist melted into her palm and became a soft goo.
Fool's gold glittered on the pacific ocean. One of the regular freaks strolled by, lost in the symphony inside his head. His shoes beyond repair, his head beyond repair.
You and I have always been here, she said.
And I knew that was true. Her cool fingers touched my blushing cheek. Her flip-flop feet inched closer to mine.
Would you like to come home with me and check out my collection of maps? Maybe we can at least figure out where we are going next?
And Hurray for Obama!!!!!
and thanks to Tessa and Anise for being two of the awesomest blogger-women I've met in the vast cyberspace. I wish for them to feel better, to feel like the heroines they are.