[Insert Life Here]
I don’t get too personal with people. I mean, sure, I get personal HERE. But when people start asking me about movies and TV shows they watch, I got nothin’. Haven’t seen ’em. Not my cuppa tea. Even if I wanted it to be, my entertainment budget is far less.
They talk about having blood and sorority siblings, or workout routines, or whatever they’re into … and I still got nothin’. Husbands, kids, play dates, fancy trips — nope.
Sorry I bore you by simply existing here. I would bore myself if I thought that hard about it.
I do try to talk politics, because that’s my love, and their eyes glaze over. Either that or I get a dissertation on my candidates (yes I follow more than the presidential election). And I just want to put a foot up someone’s ass.
I hate feeling like there’s nowhere I belong.
But then I just got off a short, 15-minute call with the Hillary Clinton volunteer organizers. And Hillary herself got on. And I felt so … where I belong.
Granted, I hate talking to people in person. What the campaign needs most — people to get the message out — is what gives me the biggest anxiety ever.
Talking to people who might get it but who probably never will. Talking to people IN GENERAL. That’s why I became a writer, yo. It’s why I edit others. Thinking on one’s feet is a talent best reserved for the politicians themselves.
It’s weird. I finally found my homeys. And I have the chance to embrace them and be embraced. But what will our heroine do, and will she ever not just find her home but also enter it?