Transplanted Life
Monday, November 10, 2003
Not really a late night
Not much going on in the nightclub area on a Monday night. It wasn't dead, but it's kind of a more sedate crowd. You've got your college students who clearly don't have enough extracurriculars, people who are really serious about their dancing and debauchery, the idle rich, Type As who have just gotten off a twelve-hour workday and just don't know how to shut down. You've probably also got more drugs than I like to think about going around, but I've always been good at avoiding that. Or lucky.

I hung around downtown, poking around in book and record stores until the clubs started opening up. Went into Macy's and bought some new underwear, figuring that if I'm going to be doing this party girl thing, I'd better have more than one pair I can wear with low-riding pants. And I think I may do the party-girl thing for a while.

It's not the sex (not to sell Friday night short) - I got home tonight without really feeling any need to do that. It's more that I really enjoy the anonymity, in a way. I don't have to worry about being Michelle for someone else, and I can put my issues on hold. I'm still myself - just a younger, attractive, female myself. I can enjoy the sensual aspects of my situation without too much agonizing over the philosophical. That's there when I get home, and to be honest, I feel kind of recharged for it. It's a paradox, but spending a few hours shaking Michelle's ass, letting people buy me drinks, and the rest gives me a sort of perspective. I feel closer to Michelle, in a way, but not in a sympathetic way. I'm doing searches in another window, and I feel like a predator stalking prey. I feel like I know my target better, that I'm making intuitive leaps I couldn't make a week ago. Some combination of getting more into a woman's mindset, being more observant of how people interact in general, and just trying to find order in chaos.

I don't know if this state of mind will actually turn anything up, but I feel like I'm on to something.

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