Disco

Three is not a good number. Three’s a crowd. When you have a threesome, there’s always going to be two people that work better together, talk to each other more, assume that everything is going great when really, there’s one more person who is inadvertently being left in the dust. Choking.

Supposedly, I’m running the Candid Yak at school this year with two other students. Supposedly, I’m in charge of scheduling. Since I’m nowhere near campus for most of the week, there’s little else for me to do. I was attacked for not keeping the other two informed about what my progress was, and when I did inform them, well, someone started taking over. Apparently, I wasn’t doing good enough. Now, I know that not being on campus doesn’t help me with the making of the friends and the recruiting of the readers, but I was hoping that the recruiting of the readers, even via email, would help me with the making of the friends and I’d get to be better acquainted with my peers in the program. Now I’m thinking that I should’ve vied for the assistant editor position at Phoebe instead. Now I’m thinking what the hell am I doing this for. It’s not going to get me anywhere in the real world, whereas working on the Magazine, you know, PUBLISHING, might have gotten me some valuable work experience for the real world of magazine publishing, which I might like to do.

I’m twenty-six years old. I’m ten pounds heavier than I’d like to be. I’m going to school for the writing of poems, aka fucking around. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I love my husband. I love my family and my friends. I like to write poetry. And, yes, I like disco. But I’m totally having a crisis of direction right now. If I had symbols, I’d bang them loud. Crash!