Silicone Heart

Ok, Ok! So she'll die looking more like the Crypt Keeper...

It is nothing more than infatuation, I know this now. Everyone tells me that I'm up to my ears in a one-sided relationship, but do I believe their rather convincing and dramatic pleas for my retribution and sanity, No...I ignore their wisdom and insight in exchange for my temporary high and blind love. Love for "living in the moment." Love for the scene. Love for the pace, for the flow. Love for the expectancy of it's inhabitants. Love for the never-resting nights and the ever-running days. I hate to love the constantly exhausting plethora of attractive features and amenities offered. I hate lying awake at night, wondering if yesterday's hard work will be enough for the demands of tomorrow. The overdose of my anxiety and anticipation of the unknown here leaves me scarred and tired. I mustn't let the others see my bloodshot eyes; I have to make them think this place which preys on everyone and everything has accepted me, for me, because I'm different and special. They mustn't see how I long for the acceptance and validity of this place's addictive and enthralling sensuality and mystery. This place satisfies and provides more than adequate access to venues for my shoe addiction, but at what cost? This place wines and dines me, but still, where's the love? I find now it's harder to breathe; not just on account of the smog and pollution that seizes the silicone heart of this place, but for the constant call to be "civilized" and "enlightened" in my "Stepford" SELF. Every creature's relentless pursuit of success here is more important than the "pursuit of happiness." They all think they're a big deal, the next big thing...Does that give the nobodies a right to treat all the other nobodies like crap? Well, apparently, as long as you have money to burn, you can do and be anyone. Here, you can die looking like Catherine Zeta-Jones, when you were really born looking like the crypt keeper. Awe, the wonders and blessings of being a Californian!