Chronologically Speaking

Wake up.
Something's flickering within my sub terrestrial understanding of humanity.
I'm being chastised for my "please walk all over me" disregard for personal initiative. 
If I advocate for myself, I'm selfish.
If I don't, I'm irresponsible.

He wanted to meet with me. You know who. He wanted to meet but I was 'unavailable'. It's because I'd want to say too much, you see? Give it a month. Let me wrap my tongue in pleasantries. I'll see him when I've forgotten enough again.

There are some sexually transmitted diseases they don't tell you about in school. Apathy. Non chalance. They don't explain how joie de vivre evolves into I think therefore I am not. I want to belong to someone. I know that isn't progressive.

I ordered a beer. It's uncharacteristic of me. It's because I feel generic today. He took over the world, you know - the one with ambition - the one who can't feel. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe if I succeed at things, the way I used to, I'll have to resign to numbness too.

Accolades without applause. That's the aesthetic. They'll tell you what you've done wrong, but it's accolades without applause. Watch your friends fester in their validation. Nail-bites and false smiles are better than the American way.

I can't remember what the weather was like on the day I was born. They say you're supposed to start your story by setting a scene. I've been trying to write. Dickens always talked about London, or cemeteries. I guess I can talk about New Jersey. A Dickensian mindset is risky, considering people's attention spans these days...

My grandmother often marvels at how little I remember about my childhood. I fear she thinks I'm ungrateful. I remember some things. The mask of a gorilla and a black leather couch, the turtle my mother let me keep for a week in Manhattan, the way my grandparent's house smelled of warm mushroom barley soup and vinyl children's records when the rest of the world fell apart...
I remember green tiles in a shower stall, and making a flamingo out of clay.  I remember my grandmother feeding me grilled cheese on rye while illustrating my book reports with her Leningrad interpretations of Mark Twain and Roald Dahl.

I remember who loved me.
I remember who I wanted to love me.
I remember being unsure of it all...

Helen Thomas left the White House yesterday. The thing is, the government isn't really outraged about what she said. I wish it were, but I think it's more about her transparency. You see, growing national bigotry is only appropriate when veiled in politically correct gray areas.

Words speak louder than actions. Welcome to the modern age.