The london bridge reassembled in the middle of the desert.
Waiting for a camera crew to pop out and tell me it was all a funny joke. Tell me my alarm is not set for 6:30 on a blessed Sunday morning. Tell me that this whole year was documented, truman show, and I can look back and laugh at all of the high lights. The best and worst. All of the mediocre and in between don't really count for shit. They stay in the memory but only the random ones. (like sitting by the pool, having a grand old time.) I become a martyr. Money burning. In piles. Wasteful regrets. I can't be too hard on my rich, old money, self. We divide and conquer. Holy holy. I cannot feel ungrateful. No. Thank god I have the family that I have or I would have been dead in a ditch somewhere long ago. Strung out on this or that. Most likely both. But it will be a huge anti-social blur tomorrow. 8 hours is more than enough to knock the old alcoholic sensibilities out of my head. Watch scare tactic film. Hear sob story. Someone comes in with one leg and blames all of us criminals for what we've done. Certificate of achievement. Specialized program to expedite my process. (Money gets you somewhere. I am burning through the reserves. This is what this money was saved for. Despite possible permanent stain. Dumbass.)
Get over yourself.
This will all be fine. Write a book about it. Life experience. Oppression. This is the power structure. What it is like to be stared at through beady or weary, murderous eyes... The blue. And the red lights, sirens and badges. Walking like nothing happened. I wake up with a scowl. What it is to have money enough to make this happen.
