TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
08.12.04, thursday evening
I am unemployable.
Well, in the professional world. A leopard wearing high heels, runs in her stockings.
I already knew I, alcoholic dilettante scatterbrained lateblooming sometimepoet, wouldn't get the job.
At least I got my arms. I can paint a house & hold up a tray of dishes. They've gotten very strong in the last year or so.
And I've got stories. Lots of 'em. Of houses & cities & people & situations I'd have never known if I had gone straight & narrow like my parents wanted for me to be.