multiply

Osama was just 11,maybe 12. She got her first period while she was hanging in a well crying out for her mother. A punishment for not being boy-enough, She was unable to climb down a tree that she had rushed up in order to prove that she is really a boy. A girl so little, made to fear so early. Women is Afghanistan in the time of the Taliban. Fear, the type that you and I will probably never face. As we mature, so do our fears. They seem to multiply as well. Will it continue to be like this week after week after month after life?
Waiting for time to pass. Trying to fill up emptiness. Going through the phone book to see who might shine up to fill up this Sunday gap. Listening to converting vegetarians. Loud. Dancing alone. Prancing alone. Waiting waiting. Stop thinking. Flipping through magazines in Greek (I shit you not). Haiku (right now I have no patience for the type)
We create networks, social networks to fill up these gaps? Why do we let ourselves get so lonely? Can one be lonely, bored and morose only when they are full up with themselves, so full that they become blind to progress, things larger than themselves that demand their attention?

At times like this I wish that my brain could function the way it did when I was 5.
Such littleness it can be capable of.
The music tears through my head. Deafen me so I can’t think anymore. Scratch chin, look up at screen. I’m writing instead of sipping on a long island iced tea. The beer bottle lies empty in the trash. The beer that I finished alone. The phone beeps with another plan for another week. They multiply and I can’t keep track, but what about now? It beeps slightly again as it locks itself.

I live alone.