It's not really a cohesive system. I don't see it as an icon of sorts. It's just a confusing mess of swirling stuff.


LITTLE ONE

My yellow dress has white daisies on it and two big pockets on the front. It doesn't have any sleeves though, because it is summertime. My hair is pulled back in pigtails and tied with pretty ribbons. I bet if I could see myself in the mirror I'd look like a giant ray of sunshine.

I stand on my tippy-toes and look inside the drawer for my best pair of white socks. They have ruffles on the ankles and look nice with my shoes. I have to find them real fast before Flowerchild wakes up. She won't let me wear them. "You're such a little baby," she will say. "Freakin' stupid baby socks."

I have to go to the job today, so I have to look my best. I'm not allowed to talk at the job . I must look cute and smile all day. Sometimes I am called upon to giggle with the co-workers or eat birthday cake in the lunchroom. It is hard work.

I find my lacy ankle socks and sit down on the bed. I pull them up over my toes while I sing, I've been working' on the railroad, all the live long day.

FLOWERCHILD

I throw the stupid white things on the floor. Like I might ever wear freakin' ankle socks. I don't ever wear socks. Even in the dead of winter I walk around barefoot. Snow, ice, it doesn't hurt. If I get frostbite I'll just hack my frozen feet off at the ankles. No frilly socks to worry about then.

We all have to go to the job today. Pisses me off. I don't see why I have to go. I hate plastic people and tight-assed bosses, or anyone with authority for that matter. But Grown-up won't let me stay home after last night. Not after I told her to climb up on the roof and jump, or to go sit in the garage with the car running. I told her to tie weights to the very ankles that Little One wants to put white lace on, and go fling her fat *** in the pool.

Then I would finally be free. I could wear my jeans to the job . The ones with the sewn-on patches. Zig-zag man, American flag, peace sign. And when the boss-man said "Hon, can you get me this. Sweetie, can you grab me that." Grab this , is what this cool chick with the cool jeans would say. I sit on the bed, slip into my favorite pair and sing, Take this job and shove it, I ain't working' here no more.

GROWNUP

Don't cry , I tell myself as I pick up the little white socks off the floor. I don't even remember buying the damn things and now I find myself folding the ancient jeans that make their way out of the closet way too often now. What is happening to me.

I smooth out the sheets and straighten out the blanket. Tuck-tuck, fluff-fluff, the bed is made to perfection. Look how neat and tidy the house is. Just like my hair. Just like my clothes. I look damn good on the job . See how well-put together I am Mr. So-And-So? Nice to see you again Mrs. What's-Your-Name.

I don't want to go. I'm afraid I'll lose control. I'll say the wrong thing. Laugh at the wrong time. Cry. But there are bills to pay and little white socks to buy. Plus T, and P-doc, and meds.

I sit on the bed, roll on my pantyhose and sing, Working nine to five, what a way to make a living.

"This is also posted in Creative Corner as The Job."