technicolor heart

i'm sitting at this huge conference table without the boring conference or conference people that wear clean pinstriped suits; but, i can picture them all around me. the typical plastic coffee pot in the center, as hands grab from all directions for the overrated starbucks coffee that comes in bulk every two weeks. they say today's meeting is very important, they will be discussing budget and replacements for fed-up retirees. everyone thinks they're somethin' special. in reality, there's just me....with my paperwork strewn across a tacky piece of furniture from the 1980s. i'm pulling a file apart for a subpoena that an uptight city-worker needs in a week. i pull rusty staples off of fifteen year old reams of paper that frequently break instead of come loose and as a result jump at me and sting my cheek & forehead. i've got my headphones on, pretending to look busy and interested while people outside of the room talk about office bull shit that i could care less about. hence the headphones. i'm listening to belle & sebastian. i start thinking that at any moment i could begin to cry because i realize that i'm that typical loser-girl that i watch in every other indie movie. the one that listens to the smiths, likes foreign films and wears mismatch clothes. i complain about my shitty job and my crappy 1994 ford escort lx. no, i'm not kidding and yes, i could almost cry. just how that girl on the screen at the sundance film festival would start to cry as a song by jeff buckley chimes in. i picture myself losing control but i don't. i just continue on, feeling even more pathetic that i'm obviously not brave enough to cry or scream or walk out and tell the boss-lady that i fuckin quit!

i'm the epitome of angry-girl rock bands from seattle. i'm sad and melancholy like jennifer aniston in the good girl. sitting behind a makeup counter at a discount store, eating half a sandwich for lunch. answering phones at the front desk at a doctor's office, where i have beef with doc's wifey who knows of our little love affair, except the only beef i truly have is with myself. maybe because i'm aware and observant enough to know that its time for a goddamn change. and maybe because i sit in a cubicle four days a week and paint pretty pictures in my head of places i want to go.

i leave the conference table and sit back at that cubicle that oozes boredom. i'm painting a picture of monaco; i'm halfway done. but, the phone rings and it's another pharmacy and i want to yell at maria or marcella, or whatever the fuck her name is for interrupting me. because, of course, i was busy. but instead, the daily rhetoric comes out and i say..."this is aileen, how may i help you?" and whatever the fuck her name is tells me, "blah, blah, blah, please?" and then its my turn again-please hold. i will transfer your call. i will open the mail, stamp it, hand it to my supervisor. i will waste time in the bathroom for 5 minutes. stare in the mirror, put my ipod on shuffle. go back to my desk and say, "wow, i can't believe its already that time."

cut to 5:00 pm.

typical indie-movie girl goes home to her boyfriend and passive aggressively yells at him.