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2001-08-31 / 6:32 p.m. ~Self Defeat?~ Okay, so here's where I am right now, mentally, right? Yeah, so here's the thing - Jesus, I don't even know how to begin a diary entry. I'm going in a lot of directions. Slow down... One would think I'd be an excellent chess player, really, in my daily life I'm thinking hours ahead, sometimes. Like now. What to do, what to do? Smashmouth is playing, downtown, for free. FREE. But it's downtown. Fatboy Slim is playing in midtown, not for free. Oh no. For $36. I can't stop rationalizing, looking ahead, looking way the fuck down the line. (didn't get far without using the word "fuck", did I?) I see me finishing my pasta with ham, changing my clothes, driving down to the train station, taking the train downtown, walking to the park, waiting for Smashmouth.....I see the details. I need cash. And it's Friday. Traffic. Getting tokens for the train. After parking, of course. Waiting. Waiting for the train. The usual generic homeless muttering guy wanting money from me, the usual generic Hispanic guy giving me the eye, and maybe a "Psssst, Psssst" too. Me sighing, me disgusted, me thinking how sick it is that a woman cannot go anywhere by herself without being harassed thusly. On the train, it smells of urine, and that peculiar smell that only MARTA has....not even the Metro in Paris has it, nor the trains in NYC, no, it's our own spayshle smale....(special smell, Southern style). Me holding my breath. Rednecks on the train, riding in for the big concert in the big downtown. In from the "exurbs". Rednecks, looking to get laid. Joy. Me, alone, holding my breath. Me walking to the park, up the million mile high escalator to the famous downtown street, to the famous park which was bombed the night I was there, but left, the night during the Olympics. Free... Okay. Crowded, lots of "kids", lots of girls with exposed midriffs, booty shorts, guys with too big pants....extraneous bands, "warmup" bands. When does Smashmouth play? Anyone? Bueller? Or......... $36. Thirty Six Dollars. That's almost Forty Dollars. That's a lot of money, right now, for me. For how long? How long a show? To see a DJ perform live? It's not a dance club, it's a theatre, a concert venue. With seats. Can we dance? Will we? Shouldn't I just buy Norm's CD? See? Can't stop thinking twenty moves ahead. If I do the one, then won't I end up losing both Bishops? What about my Queen? If I go to the one, isn't that Checkmate in 4 more moves? I should be good at Chess. If I play a poor opponent, like the French ex-boyfriend, the huge waste of time, well, I can win. And he will be mad, doesn't like to lose. Hmmmm....Free. Outside. Downtown. Hmmm....the train.......tokens...that smell. Kids, rednecks in from the exurbs..... Okay, almost Forty Dollars....people with money, real fans, not rednecks....hipsters.......hmmmm...can we dance? It is SO hard to be me. Cost of the War in Iraq
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