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The Journal of Lauren Singer

an ex-convict thinks i'm cute
08/23/2006 09:47 p.m.
i am broke and i hate my father. out of pride i will not ask for a loan. upon my return from the city, i called him for a ride from the train station and before i could ask i got "i'll leave the door open" in reply. after being stranded outside the LIRR in ronkonkoma i finally got back here where i was reminded that i am "a consistent inconvenience". nothing more. every time i think i will tell him everything i hate about him my lower lip trembles and i stare out the window, silently. maybe one day i will write it in a letter and mail it to him without a return address. so dramatic.

on sunday my great aunt bea died. i didn't attend the funeral. my grandmother thought it would ruin my vacation. so i got drunk instead and missed her by myself while some stranger gave her a half-hearted eulogy some place else. i don't remember much about her, but the one memory i've kept is of that toy dog that barked and did flips when you pressed a button. she always had that out at her house, new batteries. she told her doctor she didn't want to live anymore, so they gave her a high dose of morphine and atavand and she just went to sleep.

the boy who won't let me forget where i'm from called me last week and yelled in my ear. he told me to make sure i came by while i was here. he won't return my calls, or answer them. so many excuses. an old friend is secretly reading kant from a desk drawer in his cubicle. his boss told him he wasn't enough of a neandrathal and needs to focus on money the way a starving man centers on food. he says he might quit and get a one way ticket to europe. he asked me to come.

after trying to help a little girl who was being screamed at by her father while her arm was stuck in a subway railing, i felt semi-good about myself. somewhere inside me lives a good samaritan. two minutes later a man in the street called me ugly. go figure.

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