girl at war
the other day a friend declared me a lost soldier.
i have been gone for sixth months + one week... a city girl paused in the country, where every time you enter the room at least one person stares at you with equal parts curiosity and thinly veiled horror.
no shows. no art. no death disco lift yr skirts + grind til dawn.
i came here to write — girl reporter. while most of my friends languish in bars + bands, i am actually using my degree (for what that's worth). filling out my taxes this year i panicked, minor crisis, when i had to write in my occupation. i could not decide whether to put writer or reporter. reporter is technically correct, but i put writer instead. i am bound enough at work that i leapt for any tiny amount of freedom to declare myself. my little temper tantrum to assert that i am an artist, a member of the creative class, the underground, the not out of touch.
i'm sure the irs bees will take my weighty decision to heart.
perhaps i was just trying to convince myself.
it was but one of many times the fear gripped me that i will forever be constrained to writing weather stories + school news, that what i decide today will label me forever. my job is good, one where i get away with writing nearly anything at a respected paper in a town they call a city, but i wither a little every time "not tolerated" replaces "anathema" or i must have an hour-long conversation about what euphemism we will use for "cunt."
i am a girl at war.
i have been gone for sixth months + one week... a city girl paused in the country, where every time you enter the room at least one person stares at you with equal parts curiosity and thinly veiled horror.
no shows. no art. no death disco lift yr skirts + grind til dawn.
i came here to write — girl reporter. while most of my friends languish in bars + bands, i am actually using my degree (for what that's worth). filling out my taxes this year i panicked, minor crisis, when i had to write in my occupation. i could not decide whether to put writer or reporter. reporter is technically correct, but i put writer instead. i am bound enough at work that i leapt for any tiny amount of freedom to declare myself. my little temper tantrum to assert that i am an artist, a member of the creative class, the underground, the not out of touch.
i'm sure the irs bees will take my weighty decision to heart.
perhaps i was just trying to convince myself.
it was but one of many times the fear gripped me that i will forever be constrained to writing weather stories + school news, that what i decide today will label me forever. my job is good, one where i get away with writing nearly anything at a respected paper in a town they call a city, but i wither a little every time "not tolerated" replaces "anathema" or i must have an hour-long conversation about what euphemism we will use for "cunt."
i am a girl at war.
posted by Nika Michelle at 7:02 PM
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