change comes very slowly
<< 11:57 a.m. - Friday, Oct. 03, 2002 >>
I�m sitting here, running my fingers through my wet hair. It hangs from my head in auburn sickles and falls on my neck, like an icy hand on my shoulder. I�m used to it now, it soaks through my shirt and leaves a wet ring around my collar. I think about the positions I�ve put myself in, contorting my body to fit into people�s visions of me. �Oh, Kelsi�.she�s nice.� And that�s it. There is nothing more to the story. I, my whole being is reduced to a common statement; a mere flu, a worn handprint in the cement. I am not much more than this. If only they saw who I am, I would be more than a bland inconsequential statement.

Enough about me! I can only whine so much�

Bony Boy, a guy who got mixed into the complicated world his peers, complains to me about all his problems. He repeats them over and over. And usually I can identify with him, but as he sighs and whines again, I am left with nothing to say. I give him ideas to change, or examples of why people think certain things about him. He does not listen. He wants to feel bad for himself. Remain in perpetual loneliness. He does not speak of anything else, and I can�t help feeling like he�s not really listening to me, or my problems�..it seems so familiar. Hmmm� sounds like ME!

I need to change!