EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK
After all the Peace and Love in my veins, and then 27 years
of Buddhism, it’s really not that easy to switch to bitch. Then,
in the early 90’s, I spent another five years reading every New
Age, American Indian, Mayan, UFO, channeled, crystal healing,
psycho-energetic book that hit the market and look where it
landed me. I’m more reclusive, cynical and belligerent than ever.
And yet somehow I feel more comfortable with myself like this.
I’m workin’ on a balance—half bitch/half good witch.
I’m listening to Daniel Lanois. He’s singing in French, which I
semi-understand, and always love—but right now, it’s annoying
the hell out of me. I must be in a really bad mood—even the
French language is pissing me off.
It’s only four-thirty in the afternoon and I’m making my way
through a fifth of vodka. Shit. I’ve really blown my moderation
strategy. Down the tubes. Gone. Poof. Didn’t happen. I’m just too
weak and useless to ever think I could do anything without going
to a dramatic extreme. Nice try. Some kind of Buddhist golden
mean I’ve never been able to master. What’s left? Exorbitance.
Self-destructive habits. Anti-social behavior. Fatalistic outlook.
This is your life. Queen for a Fucking Day. Well, bring on the
crown. You want me to smile and wave to the masses from the
back of some shiny new Lincoln Town Car convertible in my
french roll, strapless formal and tiara? Been there, done that.
It’s Miss Sylmar 1964. We’ll give the people their goddamned
parade. But you’ve only got me until midnight. Then I turn back
into your worst nightmare.