The 80s

Blue Tuesday

Alas I did not French kiss the fuck out of life.

In fact I haven't even been to a single show since this tour started. I literally took my heels off as quickly as I put them on. I barely leave whatever hotel room he puts me in. I mean what was I even thinking, running around on tour with the most famous man in the world. For peace?!? Absolute fucking lunacy.

The fans practically chant outside the windows at all hours of the night and I don't mean to sound out of touch but does anyone have a job anymore?

But once again, I hate myself for sounding so inconsiderate. He gets to live his dreams because of them and so do I. Fame can be such a prison sometimes, being boarded up away from the real world can drive anyone insane. So that's why it's so glamorous, you're thrusted into this make believe world, of people who are make believe characters, and everything you could ever want is at your disposal but nothing is genuine about that. There's nothing safe about that. Humans need borders, we need parameters or else we're inevitable cautionary tales.

I glared over at the sunlight illuminating the edges of the dark curtains, ruining the darkness of the bedroom. I have to get out the bed now, if I don't. Michael will say something and give me that pity look. And then I'll run a bath and sit in it for a few hours and be alone and be left to my less than savory thoughts and once again be forced to deal with myself.

And I hated myself.

"Girl" I chuckled, sitting myself up on my elbows. But did I lie? Pretty girl can sing a song suddenly she's a saint, suddenly everyone wants to be around her. Pamper her. Shower her with undying affection. Until you see her ugly, then that's when they run. They don't treat you like the jewel they told you that you were. They treat you like the monster that you are.

Sometimes I feel like a monster. It hurts sometimes, it really hurts to try your best and be reduced to just feeling like a monster.

"Okay girl, let's put a smile on this lovely face." I skipped as cartoonish as I could to jump start the serotonin. Have to force myself to the bathroom to finally get my day started.

In the mirror was a great place to be, I stripped of my extremely cute, night set. Thank you Chanel. and basked in myself in the mirror. A smoke show, naturally. I take after my beautiful mother. In the midst of my confidence boosting gazing, I did my ceremonious deep breathes stretching my arms over my head, inhaling and bringing them down to my sides again with an exhale .

Repeating my mantras of how "I am okay" and "Intrusive thoughts are not real."

I jumped in the shower, scrubbed away the dirty as hard as I could. My showers were my favorite time. As long as I was clean whatever I was going through could be a minimized. I always took a chance in the shower to play with parts of my voice. My vibrato always sounded amazing in the shower and so did my whistles. I loved that I could do that.

Both Prince and Michael have tried to get me to teach them how to open their voice up to do that. While they both have impressive ranges, I would forever have the superior one.

Prince does have the closest range. Don't shoot the messenger. That will never take away the richness of Michael's voice. He sings effortlessly. It really takes him nothing to sing. Prince is always jamming, he has a composer's brain.

Michael however, he always sings. Michael's always moving. Life to him is a musical. We saw a Sweeney Todd play together recently. I can only do things like that with him.

I smiled, I tended to muse like this in the shower. I loved them both for vastly different reasons. I don't know if it's our positions in life but they're both the loves of my life. I have two. Terrible that way.