Thursday, April 10, 2003

Hey! The new Iraqi currency already came out...

From: Saddam's Cyber Palace

Alternative Careers

Many times I just want to run away. I’ve always suffered from this fantasy about flight. I used to dream of amnesia. Amnesia seemed the greatest thing you could get. Especially if you happened to wash up on the shore of an island in the South Pacific.

Inhabited by hospitable people wearing extremely comfortable pareos and eating a high starch diet. Lots of comfort food.

I used to think that I could become a bartender on the island of Moorea. Especially around finals time. I imagined myself as some hot saucy island girl in a halter top (at first) and later then a salty old woman with many tales to tell.

It was the only way I could get myself to take those finals—to assume they meant nothing.

I feel no shame at my cowardice about my desire to escape the bad things of life. What’s the point of gazing when your gaze does no good anyway. It seems like self-punishment.

It doesn’t work in any case to flee and of course any sane person cannot help but feel torment now.

Even though I know this I often dream of alternative lives—ones that free me from the burden of personal responsibility. I’m glad I didn’t carry out my plan to join the army. I often entertain the thought of entering a convent or joining a religious cult. I also thought a women’s prison might be a nice change in spite of the downside.

I just had a dream I was in a co-ed prison. It was really posh and didn't smell bad at all. And I was miserable. I cried all the time. J. Lo was in there with me. She was super-sweet. The nicest prisoner ever (Of course she wasn't famous or anything in the dream.) Turns out she had collaborated with Greek terrorists and had to do time. It was very unfair for both of us. We went to prison for being nice! See, she was helping the illiterate Greek terrorists and I was sneaking people in from Mexico across the US border. Anyway, I hated prison and cried and cried in the dream. Um. I think it might be about my job.

My husband being a sensible man often tells me the down side but sometimes he goes along with my dreams. For example, I was telling him that lately becoming a heroin addict seemed like a nice idea. He said “Could you wait until after you get pregnant and then have the baby? The baby will be healthy but then if you get tired of the baby they’ll take it away from us.”

Oh we’re so evil. We want a baby but we keep wondering why they don’t have such things as baby tranquilizers. God, I sure could have used tranquilizers as a child—I was so high strung and willful I drove my parents crazy. They would yell and lose their tempers. Think of all the trauma we might have been spared had they slipped me a valium once in a while.

No, really, I will be a good mother. I cared for many children in my life and I was very responsible and nurturing they tell me now that they are older. I can’t do the perfect mom thing but all the kids I knew with the perfect moms really did grow up to be heroin addicts. Whereas I, with parents who used to leave me in the car all night because they forgot me in the backseat after I fell asleep on the way home, merely joke about being a heroin addict. I can only conclude that neglectful parenting is the best thing for children.


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