This escape feels more like a really long detour…

“Sometimes our lives are less than extraordinary,” with cramped hands I manually dictate fragments of text into a workbook with my failing blue pen. “Sometimes our lives aren’t the greatest sources of inspiration,” I could cut the skin from the inner side of my ring finger and I wouldn’t feel it due to the obscene callous formed there. For the record nothing about beauty school is glamorous, try hideous and shameful for accuracy, indeed. If the sudden interest in seeing our completed workbooks were not on the agenda for tomorrow morning, today would have been a very good day. It happens, even now with the shards of my social life splintered and half protruding, uncomfortably from my ever tender skin. “Sometimes no amount of life resuscitating measures can prevent loss,” the myspace server is grinding to a halt but I can still see you have moved me down your friends list again, I am as shocked as I am not. Vibrating devices alert me that my mother has called, she offers advice, she offers unconditional love- I offer a no thank you. “Sometimes the ones we love are eager to help everyone but themselves,” the piece of paper crinkled in my hand is a statement saying that I have missed two months worth of class days, I have begun to bite at my lips again.