IT'S WHERE I LIVE by Kathy Najimy Written in 1991 (published in FLAUNT Magazine in 1999) It’s because of where I live. Yes, I do, I do want to get married I think, and I want to have a baby/teen/adult, for sure, and I know that I have to be different. It’s not me though, don’t you see...it’s where I live. Here on earth in this society I don’t have room for all of my rage and so I eat it. I don’t have a heart big enough for all of my tears and so I eat it. Its not me. it’s where I live. I can’t drive down the road without begging the world to please not let the poor street people abuse their dogs. please god please. I don’t care what they do to themselves but please dear god don’t let them hurt the dogs. It’s not me it’s where I live. My women friends have these boyfriends. Elena, funny, beautiful, funny Elena is married to a goddamn hunter and Linda, smart dry sarcastic hilarious kind Linda is with a Midwestern nice but damn those homeless and give me veal type doctor who loves her hair which is not even very good hair but he loves it and so she loves him and these men aren't these Womens equals but they are together because they live in this world and that is what we need: hunters and husbands and men who approve of our hair. Lindas’ boyfriend, the doctor says he “treats people with AIDS just like I treat everyone else.” and he thinks therapists are a big $100.00 racket....but he is nice to me and he is polite and he likes her hair. You see it is not me ...it’s this place I live. this place where our hearts are not made up of our own choosing but rather of magazine articles and parents nods and our own perfumed cum. What is in my heart I don’t know...there is no room...its all filled up with food because I can’t stand to think that the dog will be kicked when the guy gets stoned or that maybe just maybe Elena and Linda would have been happier together even though they have never met. They won’t know and I won’t know because we are filled up with what we have been told should make us feel valid. not necessarily happy but valid. Where do thin people put their tears and rage? I mean if they are at work or in an airplane or in line at the store or driving their cars or talking to their boyfriend’s grandmothers. Then where does it go where does it go. I don’t think I am nice I don’t even really respect nice but oh i want to be nice so everyone will like me and not be threatened by me. It’s not me It’s where I live and I try changing where I live and it gives me more tears and more rage and more food. That is why I am unsuccessful at changing because I know I would have to stab my spirit and cut out my heart to change and I don’t think its me I really don’t. I think it is where I live.