Yes, it's really THAT serious.

I dunno why, but I'm all about Fashion right now. [Yes, with the upper case F. It's that necessary.]

And in case you didn't get the memo, by "right now", what I really mean is, "at this moment, wherein I may be the third brokest I've ever been in my life."

AAAAAHHH!!!

Why, oh why, did I have to look in my closet this afternoon and have a "nothing looks good" moment?

And why did I have to be right about nothing looking good?!

WHY?!

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Damn. It.

It's too fucking hot to sew shit together, and I just can't deal with not looking the way I wanna look. I don't think I should have to deal with it.

See, the way I look at it, there isn't much I have control over. In my world, fifty-one year old moms suffer from strokes, dads cheat on moms on mother's day, best friends become estranged in the blink of an eye, trips to France are arranged within a five-hour period, teenage godsons drop dead after getting shot in the face, gynecologists say that you deserve cervical cancer because you've had an abortion, 'quitting jobs that you love' becomes a necessary action because you're not getting paid or you're getting sexually harassed, et al.

This - how I look - is something I can control. Or, at least, I should be able to control it. The facebook profile of an old friend says, "I can not control how I am perceived. I can only control how I am presented." That's how I feel right now.

The weather is hot. My schedule is booked solid. Communication and correspondence take up huge chunks of my time. I'm busting my ass, making as much cash as I can without holding down a regular-paying job.

The least I can do is like the way I look.

So tomorrow I'm getting my hair permed and cut. Maybe colored. [I don't wanna damage my hair beyond repair by doing all of that in one day; maybe I'll hold off on the dye job.] My homeslice, Chanel [one of the first Filipino drag queens to make a name for herself in Atlantic City], is taking me to Sephora and doing my make-up. Then we're gonna hit the thrift stores for some chice vintage-y threads.

And, in the meantime, I'm hitting up the usual online stores to see if there's a wardrobe out there that'll fit my non-existent budget. I'm writing away and keeping my publishing/literary contacts fresh, because there's something real that I'm working towards. I'm dealing with drama after drama after drama and getting so lost in all of it that none of it seems real to me anymore.

It's all becoming kind of cut-and-dry, black-and-white, easy/hard. It's all becoming doable. I don't know how that happened. When did I turn around and have all that I needed? Did the self confidence always exist, or did I work up to this point?

It's taken me a long time to reach a point where my greatest concerns revolve around Me. Now that I'm here, I don't care if I seem shallow or narcissistic. I've earned this privilege. I've earned the right to put myself first. And if I'm currently about fashion - not politics, nor romance, nor family, nor friends - then so be it.

Tomorrow, the winds will change and I'll no doubt be all about something else.

Either way, I don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks.