Brain chatter.

It’s the day my blog class is announced to a city of 500,000. Should be happy but I’m not. Nervous. Scared shitless. Prolly gonna cuss up a storm at the office when they pull me in and say what the fuck do you think you’re doing Lucky? Doing whatever the fuck I want because I’mma gangsta like Lil Wayne.

It’s two days after my visit with Lopez. Should feel better but I don’t. Reminded of the abuse. The emotional. The physical. Everyone else is fine. They are over it. I’m not. Don’t wanna be alone. Can’t stop thinking about my dad calling me and saying my uncle tried to control my cousin by saying hey you can have a car if you come visit me. Cousin didn’t visit him. All family members think we can be controlled by material things. Can’t. We need love not money we need hugs not lies.

Today is the day the magazine prints I have three good stories in it. Should be happy but I’m not. Boots’ mom is dead. Wish the trainers at the gym would stop starring at me, stop coming near me, stop trying to talk to me. Wish my neighbor in the elevator would jump off the side after telling me the apt he lived in.

Money in the bank. Should be happy. Bought my flight to Vegas. Should be happy. Bought a new orange blazer. Should be happy. Avoiding bitchy editor. Should be happy.

Must. Do. Taxes. Must. Read. Must. Sew. Must. Workout. Must. Write.

Josh to Eddy: Did Lucky have a good time Friday night? Eddy to Josh: yeah, she said she did. Josh to Eddy: prolly because I didn’t make fun of her. Cubby. Sick of the negativity. Why is it so easy to make fun of me?

Dad sent me 14 texts about Napoleon Dynamite. Did you like my play by play of Napoleon Dynamite? I checked my phone and had like 15 texts. Yeah. Funny. There’s like a butt load of gangs at this school.

Scared to leave. Afraid to see them. Afraid they’ll corner me again. Scared to go it alone.

Don’t wanna talk to anyone. Don’t wanna see anyone. Don’t wanna blog about it.

Scared to post this.


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