i'm wearied now of owning my own heart

yes, i offered to pick her up from jail this morning because i have a need to prove i'm not useless because i am a good friend. i have no intention of getting in the middle, she's all yours, my dear, you know she's not my type. don't mistake my awkwardness for disappointment; i am merely trying to memorize the feeling of being valued. of course you need to rush in and save her, of course i'll go back to doing whatever it is i wasn't doing before.

but hey, i'm good in a crisis, i'm good at 3am when you're stranded drunk at a gas station in pasadena in your short black dress and heels, where the cops left you after they cuffed your girlfriend, ma'am, is there someone you can call? yes, of course there is, i'm good, i'm here, i'll talk you through it, i'll save you until she's free again and you can rush in, the heroine. 


really, it's just the coincidence of sobriety and reliability. i'll never be the loose cannon, the rogue, the one asking to be saved. vicarious drama is, in the end, only a surrogate, and i'm excruciatingly bored.