I often battle myself between the cold truth and the beautiful delusions.
My pitch to pick-up d*cks: I play music. "What kind of music?" Rock. "What kind of rock?" Soulful rock, people compare me to Janis Joplin, Amy Winehouse, and the Wilson sisters. "Did you take guitar lessons?" No actually, I taught myself myself guitar! Funny story.... since I was 11 years old. "How old are you?" I'm 23, [yes I'm moderately easy depending on how intoxicated you get me, but you might not like who I am in the morning] I'm glad you like my voice! "Do you have a Facebook page?" Yeah! Of course....(the alternative and socially acceptable way to low-key get someone's contact information, without actually getting their number upfront.)
..."My reality sucks, so I might as well make the best of it!", I say in my head as I drink and smoke to oblivion. I breath in the smoke and hold it in like I'm super cool, then I let the whiskey roll down my stomach. By holding in the smoke, it rushes to my head and gives me a buzz as I wait for the slosh to pass through my throat. Finally, I exhale after I have digested the devil's nectar because I've already been damned the moment I signed my soul away to forever and always play music. I'll run in and out of the bathroom doing god knows what in the stalls, ending each trip with a long and strung out gaze into the mirror, with each stare down longer than the last. In those moments I feel like a fox. A sexy, thick, confident, fox. I feel good, I look good; I am so good. My strut is on point. Look at me go as I leave the bathroom to charm the many I have, picking and choosing who buys my next one. I always keep in mind to be sure these men don't run into each other, sneaking around like the sneak I am. My father would be so proud. The night goes on, one hour after the other. Next thing I know I'm in a car with a stranger, and that's a fun night for me. Such a shame. Dreams are so sweet until I wake up and see the make-up from the night before. I look in the mirror to see a raccoon instead of a Foxx. I go too hard, blow through jobs, kiss frogs, and chase my addictions. God, it feels good. Am I creating my own monster? Monsters in my bed, a whole song written about this very persona I've made myself out to be. #rockstarlife and broke as a bum...
..."Maybe I shouldn't have blown through those jobs", I tell myself as I try update my resume..again. "I can't do it, I'm too hungover". Being hungover is like that time I threw up that bland raisin bran my dad made me eat before swim practice when I was a kid: you show up late, leave a mess, and everyone is disappointed. Except this time, since I'm unemployed, I'm only disappointing myself, (and my parents who I live with). When I lived on my own, I had a car, a kick ass job, I was in school... I am a very hard worker, but I bring it upon myself with my rouge-wolf mentality, always questioning the man, and doing things my way, even if it gets me fired. I get my hopes up on the next one and the cycle starts again. I jump from job to job like a gypsy traveler, always making sure that the staff knows about how much I aspire to be a touring act. "Get back to work", says the manager. How many times have I looked outside the establishment windows, wondering if life would get any better? Now that I haven't had a stable job since June, I've been putting all my time into music and I have never felt more alive! That doesn't mean I haven't been working. I take my ass out on the streets of downtown and play my heart out for 50$ a day. I open my guitar case and hope for the best. I would make more in the city but I'm afraid of being mugged as a single woman. The thought of someone reaching into my guitar case and grabbing all my hard earned money is something I wish to avoid. I play shows at bars in hopes of being booked there to play for more than the adrenaline, (but I do have to say, the high is worth it).
..."I'll call Mrs. Davis in the morning!", I tell my dad who's been trying to get me to go back to being a preschool teacher. I've worked at four. I went to school to try and be a teacher because I love children and had taught at elementary schools as a guitar club teacher before I got fired for showing off my tattoos to the children. God what was I thinking. I dropped out because it got depressing having to hold gender-less toy babies with emotionless faces. The rules and regulations can be found online, so technically anyone with a clean record can be a preschool teacher. Plus, I couldn't watch another child-abuse informational video. I worked at one preschool, failed the drug test. I worked at another preschool, failed to please the crazy bitch everyone called Annie. I worked at a third preschool, the lead teacher was on meth and yelled at the babies like they're adulted people! This fourth preschool is the first one I worked at, and I was too immature and inexperienced to work there. Now I'm giving it another go because I'm desperate to make this album and buy a car and it's better than fast food. I always tell myself I'm never working education again because leaving the children who all get to know me means drinking a handle on my own and smoking a full pack that night, and then waking up face down in the toilet with the stench of vomit and the sound of my best friend knocking on the door to ask me if everything is okay. I drunkenly pull myself back up, and flush the toilet. "Yeaaahhhuup. I'm okay Jessssssica!", as I wash my mouth out with her children's Listerine. I stare at how pathetic I am for letting so many people down...again. I think of those little faces and the stench of baby s***. I close my eyes to images of the sky on a beautiful day, playing with the children and pointing at clouds, grabbing my guitar and playing wheels on the bus go round and...gone again. Why? My rouge-wolf mentality, always questioning the man, and doing things my way. Apparently, that makes me a bad influence. Until now, I've filled the void by babysitting. I never forget the children on those fun babysitting nights, and it's always so hard to get them into bed, but when I do I tell them, "By the time you fall asleep, I'll be singing in the moonlight", like the bedtime story my grandest dreams are. I go and sing into the night and chase my high, every single time.
I aspire so much, with a long journey ahead. I'm at a weird time in my life where I feel like an adult but everyone says I'm a baby. I'll take it if it means you'll buy me a beer...or not. I've babysat babies, but in the music world, I'm in diapers again. Recently music has been picking up though. My new band is killing shows, getting offers for shows left and right. People rave about my powerhouse voice with distorted bass and clean drums. We just got a guitar player. We call him Little Fish because he's 19. They should be calling him the baby. Anyways, we just played a party and got two encores! The birthday gal was so happy. I got super drunk. Jessica brought Chino, (a drunken hookup). So weird to see Chino talking with Wilson, (the one guy in the band I hookup with and is not my boyfriend for extremely personal and complicated reasons). It's even crazier when this chick kisses my hand in front of these two hormonal men I slept with, and I'm very into her. I've never tried women before, but I'd be down. I'm 23 and curious and I like an edge. Every partner I've been with has an edge.
Things are looking up!
More sex, drugs, and rock and roll to come. That's the life I want to live! The one where I drink beer in the morning, and liquor at night. I want that rockstar life. I'm willing to do anything for it. I mean anything, as long as I have enough intoxication inside of me. Look at me! I'm a joke. Come to think of it, I'm too thick for men who pimp out models and make them into pop-stars. Different genre, different rules....Guess I'll have to work harder than the average piece of ass. My thick legs might not go over well in Hollywood unless I make my stature my niche like Adele, Jennifer Hudson in her prime, and that chick from the Alabama Shakes. I want to make a lot of money doing what I love, which is making music. I've worked my whole entire life to be where I am today. From being diagnosed with a mild form of Autism (PDD-NOS) at 2 with doctors saying I'd never talk, to being the wreckless piece of s*** I am today; no one would believe me. I live for the tunes. What I really want is to make enough money to help the people who helped me become the person I am content with. I want to help my parents pay their mortgage, and give my sister and my brother a good life, and college funds for their children. We'll see who's really there for me when it comes to cousins. Aunts and Uncles are kind. I pray my one last grandparent, Grandma, will live long enough to see me sing on TV. I would like to have a son with beautiful brown eyes, like my favorite baby I worked with in this one preschool. I called him King Baby because he was the smallest baby at the time and was often put in this little chair because he couldn't crawl. I worked with him to build his confidence and by the time I left he was crawling. I want a little girl with green eyes like me, so I can name her something esoteric. Nothing too crazy, but something that suits her. I want a loving husband who fulfills me in every single way. Then I want to retire by composing for films in the mountains.
What a beautiful delusion.
The cold truth: I'll probably die from an overdose before I turn 30.
By Rivett Raccoon