I am sitting at work wearing a thrift store sweater
, waiting to leave. I started to contemplate
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.