i want to be a force
2005-09-23 3:54 a.m.

all right. i must make this weekend worthwhile.

i have a lot of space. in the room, and at home. pam said mockingly, "use the room," before she went home to work.

before she went home to be with her nice BOYFRIEND, she left me alone in the room. in this big room and my lame twin bed.

[man what i'd do for a king sized bed, once in my life. it's so sexy. beds are sexy. sheets are sexy. everything is sexy a week before your period.]

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it's hours later. i can't watch what i eat right now; i need food as a crutch. it's sad and pathetic, but so is a lot of other shit. i'm very dissatisfied with my looks, but i simply can't do it right now.

i alternate a lot on my views, though. today i can't do it--today i need to focus on writing and i need food to be there, like a husband, to comfort me when i come home. tomorrow i'll be ashamed. i'll see a picture, i'll miss my waist, and the decision will be easy to make.

the next day, who the hell cares? it's weight. close your eyes--i'm still the same, mostly. even J used to say that, when he was busy using me in my dorm bed: "when the lights are off, you can't tell."

Simon said that once, too. man, that hurts. the wise owl Ira said, of bad criticsm, in his livejournal, "you can't shake it." I can't shake these boys. i can't shake them. i want someone to come along and reset me.

"don't forget who's taking you home, and in whose arms you're gonna be."

i want to be claimed. i want to be someone's property. i want to be the object of jealousy and brawls. i want to be an object that someone cannot live without. i want to be irreplaceable, i want to be the woman in white, i want to be the long cool woman in a black dress.

i want to infiltrate fantasies and obstruct everyday chores; i want you to be unable to go to the grocery store without a few thoughts of me sneaking up in the frozen food aisles. i want the girls on the boxes of hair dye to whisper my name, i want my brand of detergent and black olives to remind you of me. i want you to want me right then, in the cereal aisle, with the smell of bread. i want to have that piercing presence.

i want to frustrate you. i want to be a period in your life, the liz time. i want you to think of my dark hair and eyes when you are with other girls, and if it ended badly with us, i want you still to respect my darkness, the havoc and the pleasure i brought. i want you to envy the next man i am with, for wrestling the force you couldn't manage: me.

i want to eat salt and vinegar chips. i want to eat cubes of cheese, french toast, cole slaw, milkshakes. i want to eat chocolate silk pie, which is nothing more than pudding. i want pudding, chick-fil-a waffle fries, buffalo wings.

i want to write the things that move people. i want to write large, expansive stories that cover years in paragraphs. i want to describe epiphanies and feelings that have no simple names. i want characters familiar. i want there to be connections and intricies and ideas that shoot and interlock in my writing like electric pulses passing through nerves. i want my writing to stand on its own. i want to write things that make readers laugh and critics cry.