last night was chelsea's social debut.
We gathered around the living room, legs folded in the pleasant evening way, glasses of wine and porter tenderly sipped between awkward glances. We giggled and fixed our hair, pampered our memories of boys and fixated our hearts on the future. Our budding little girl careers hanging in the horse blinders; so near in reach that all we would have to do is stretch our slim and shapely hands towards the goal and clasp our prize. There it is we shout, give us more we cry, set us free.
Everyday I get ready, i wash my face, clean the sleep out of my eyes, pucker lips and pose in front of my bedroom window 'look at me commercial drive, i am ready to go'. The ritual of new beginnings is the champion of my life. The everyday routine that brings comfort in whatever crazy stage of life I am currently slaying. I am slaying the self discovery stage. I have accused many boys of 'lone man syndrome', the never tied down, sirius black, han solo, keith richards, character that stays cool forever. Men's, men. Guys for other guys. However, as I get ready every day I feel the teenage glee of the lone woman, the big girl in a big city, carrie bradshaw 'has it all' and always looks fabulous character of my New York, Paper magazine fantasy. Maybe i want to save the galaxy today, kiss the boy tomorrow and then ride off into the sunset. The self discovery of this grand POP epiphany is the lone woman inside me.
I am a new girl in a town I moved to alone, sight un-seen. Everything is new. The communal nature of my day job leads me to lunch with strangers. Friday my break and the lunch of our local 'silver fox' collided into a table for three shared by two. So inevitably we chat. He asks me why i moved to Vancouver I say 'to find myself', so far, standard questions, predictable answers. Then he says 'what have you learned so far?', i say 'I sell my self short and then wonder why i dont have what i want. Im not going to do that again'. POP. Believe when I say, I want it that way.
So there I am three days later, the party is dark, the disco ball is ironic, the space is abandoned, the dj is totally hot, the people are well dressed and the music is shaking my hips in a slow rotten taunt. I have been to this party a million times. Everyone has an ironic beard or jeremy fish inspired sailor cap folded to be just too small for their defiant little low brow heads. I hate them. How am i supposed to fit in, in a world of morons. This no longer appeals to me. The fact is it never appealed to me, i just think i want it because so many other people have wanted it and the desire comes so easily. What i want is emancipation. I want to believe. I want to believe that this is it, that I am not going to do anything again until i believe it like the sad POP fool of every heart breaking song ever written. Bring me home John Lennon, i am ready to imagine again.
