Opened Mail

Someone(s) keeps opening my mail. I don't know who it is. Since I don't rely much on regular mail anymore, I try not to let it bother me. However, occasionally some letters are important. And they come opened. LIke from the University. Or a doctor's office.

Why would anyone else be interested? Even at my most vain, I can't think of a good reason. I don't have a nosy ex-boyfriend, and my parents, this is their home, claim, it's not them.

I don't even read most of my mail. It's fucking stacked all over the house or in the cabinet cleverly titled "MAIL" by my mother. Most of which is repeated bills, a mountain of looming stress that I'd rather ignore, which a good therapist would no doubt throw a barb that this is a part of growing up I never did--you know--paying them. When I was younger, I opened my own envelopes. Now, some invisible hand does for me. ONly the important ones though.

You begin to think your life isn't your own. But the State's. And that's a dangerous thought . If you ever have that thought yourself, you should try to remember what happened to get from there to here, the STate. The We has power, but the I does not have very much. I've found that nothing is lonelier than be angry alone. Or, better said, being angry about a situation in which everyone else is in, but they're not angry about it at all. Just you. And then, they can't figure out why you're angry. Why are you angry, Lacey? Nothing around you has changed. It's all the same. We're the same. You're delusional.

I looked around one day out in the desert, and I didn't know what changed, but it was like there were aliens from Mars who landed. It was that strong of a difference. To me. And everyone was trying to cover it up. Which is why the metaphor "aliens" just stuck. Even though it's a metaphor. Dr. Rainbow once said that we might not live to see the end of Democracy in the US. We might not. Live to see it. But it will end. And I remember everyone's shocked faces in class. The End of Democracy? In the US? REally?

Yeah. Really.