I am sitting at work wearing a thrift store sweater, waiting to leave. I started to contemplate my permanent float. My decisions are always flexible, my mind never quite made up.

I realized this and thought of Deena Polichiccio. She was in a play with me in high school. In the play, there were 7 or 8 girls. We were all supposed to be birds in a cage with different attitudes. I was the lead, the bird who wanted to fly the coop. There was the mean bird, the complacent bird, the happy bird, the nervous bird, the vain bird, and the permanently floating voter. Deena was the PFV. The big climax was when I was about to get out the door and desperately needed help. I needed a hairpin to pick the lock and get out. The PFV hemmed and hawed, and I tried to take her with me. I can't remember from the play whether or not she joined me, the wild bird, in my pursuit of life, liberty, and high school boys. I just know now that I've become the PFV and can't seem to kick myself in the ass hard enough to get out the cage door. This whole metaphor stinks and I hate it, but it's too appropriate and I can't take it away. I used to walk around and do stuff, just on a whim, because I wanted to do it. Not because someone else suggested it or because they might go along, but because I felt like driving a few miles away and staring at the stars. I felt like rolling around in the leaves and sniffing around in the smells of autumn despite the snot that wanted to congeal on my upper lip. I wanted to do things. Now I don't want to do anything. I wait for people to give me the activity ballot and I hem and haw and I mark "undecided" and I give it back.

I want my old me back. I barely remember her.