have a great weekend and thanks so much for reading! i am in the fuzz of advil pm i took at 4 am because i couldn't sleep. note to self: sleep aids work so well i might still be asleep while posting this.Make believe of adulthood has transformed into forgotten super heros costumes and play fights and lava around the bed into pretending, the faking it until you make it mantra. We all make believe but somehow the creativity of our younger wonder years can be lost in the this thing call adultness.
Being an adult is overrated. If I had only known what was to come I would have stayed in the tree house of childhood longer. I might not had rushed so hard to be an adult and make adult decisions. I might had taken longer to get through the connection from being the child to the adult of college. I might have done a lot of things. But one thing I do know is that I might have built to stay in the comfort of simplicity and lightness of being kate b. in school written upon my books. Because a whole month I was late exiting the womb. And still didn’t want to get out. They had induce my exit into the world through medication pleading me the little one to enter, enter the world of adults. Idealist I was from the beginning.
Adulthood is is the responsibility that weighs you down. The inability to give the task to someone else. So as I make believe in my own way, putting on the right dress, and making sure I look the way I should. I am making believe that I haven’t been couch and bed surfing this last week. I am pretending that stress didn’t stop me from eating and sleeping. For I am in an abyss of the solitude of fear and anger and uncertainty all occurring in my home. My landlord nightmare. Monday I was swimming in lake tahoe and by Tuesday I was calling the cops on him due to his threats. Bookmarked the week with an art gallery and a few beers.
Because I have to make believe that I am okay. That it will be okay. I got to fake it as I make it. And as I walk into the hipster flat turned into art gallery, I look in the faces most with unruly beards and eyes dilated, as I scan down to the tats art within itself, then the fanny packs, and tight jeans, and biker hats turned upward. I know we are all making believe. In the best way we can. I look around the room of art. Random photo of boobs and butts and beds and scenery and birds all lined up in neat rows. I make believe to look and really understand. Instead I am thinking what if that was my rack upon this wall? And I didn’t know until. Until right now.
We walk outside through the house that is part of the installation. We are out. The air feels good upon my face. PBR and Tecate cans in one hand and burrito in another is the uniform at this party. A dude actually pulled out his balls in the bathroom line to show his friends. Forgetting we are no longer in elementary school of privates comparison. My friend recognized him as her neighbor. And once she said something to him, he promptly replied as he put away his balls one and two, well you recognize me then. Making believe we are grown-ups, some of us are just better at it than others.
One man with a beard that needs a trim with a hoodie and burrito double fisted with both his hands interrupts my conversation and says as he sways, have you bought my book yet? No what is it about? I inquisitively respond. It’s about being fucked up on alcohol and drugs. How original- no one has done one that before-comes back up like bad milk spewed upon his face. I start laughing too loud. He laughs too. I am making believe. Believe I belong here. Here.
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