Crappy memories

Afternoon does something to me when I'm feeling particularly in a funk or uncomfortable. Kinda nursing a tootheache in 90 degree heat while my mom pesters me for the rent from a check that hasn;t arrived, I;d rather just tune out money when I'm crabby. But it got me to thinking about afternoons. Why I hate them. PST, when England is going to sleep, American kids are just returning home from school. The structured, unintoxicated regularity of school, where lunch is at a certain time everyday, recess can be counted on, your are amongst friends. Then afternoon rolls around and you have to go home to a raging alcoholic mother, friends whose mother's are wise enough not to let their daughters come play at your house, and a distant father and sister, dealing with the distress of the crazy homelife their own way. That left me alone. I'd go outside and play by myself until I absolutely had to come in for what would usually be a tense argument filled dinner and television until bedtime. In November of 1985, just as Morrissey wrapped up his Scottish part of his Meat is Murder tour, I looked like this:

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November spawned a mouse, who I suspect, however many thousands of miles away was deep in sleep as this picture is taken, I don't know why. I do know that my friend left me in a way in the afternoon. Today that slumber difference is entertaining and dreamy. As an 11 year-old girl, it was frightening and lonely. Today sometimes in the afternoon, that feeling creeps up on me. The memory of being so alone in the world, even my imaginary constant friend asleep. So whether simply for artistic reasons or a real friend, I cannot describe to you how comforting this image is, this possible awareness that he knows. Crazy talk, I know. Perhaps it's the desperation of a tootheache talking.

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