Are You a Good Bitch Or A Bad Bitch?

The Shan is on Cloud 9 (x 40,000) this morning. Last night I had one of those rare, incredibly validating shows where it seems to me I may be pretty good at this whole 'stand up' business. And here I am at work after having slept maybe 4 hours, wearing my corporate garb and wondering what the fuck I'm still doing here. The 9-5 gauntlet continues to wear me down, day after day. Monotonous is too sweet a word for office life. It's slow and painful, and resembles torture in a way. Sure, I'm not being hung from the ceiling by hooks implanted in my toes. (Is thay what they do? I have to call my peeps at Guantanamo and get back to you.) But metaphorically, that's exactly what's happening.

This morning, however, I could give a rat's ass, a flying fuck; I could, beyond a shawdow of a doubt, care less. I'm operating on 3 or 4 hours sleep. My subconscious mind is calling to me, "Go back to your bed, little blond girl. Leave your desk. Follow your dreams." Thankfully, I recognize that voice. It's my Bad Girl. She's the one who always encouraged me to get wasted, to avoid handing in papers on time, to make bitchy remarks about lesbian midgets (great story for another day) and to litter. She's fun but she'll leave you behind bars and empty your back account.

Believe it or not, my Goodish Girl says things like, "Eh, fuck 'em all. Who cares what they think? But remember to treat everyone with love and kindness. Assholes, Freaks and cranky, miserable, poorly dressed Meanies need love, too. Feel free to talk plenty of smack, though."