I believe in truth and honesty.

So I was thinking about my last entry and I think you should know both sides of the story.

My friends worry about me too. They call all the time. When they think I'm using hard drugs, they shake me, they ask me. They lecture me. They've taken my calls back in the day, those desparate ones, when you try to sound straight and casually mention that you were only calling to say "hi - I know we haven't talked in a while, but I ran out of money and I have this *thing* coming up and I was wondering if you could Western Union cash to me...yeah, 200 dollars would be great..."Or the, "I've gotten into some trouble, and I'm going to come home to chill for a few weeks, will you be there" calls? The "I fucked up" calls. And they don't let me forget those calls.

Sometimes I still do stupid stuff. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I disappear from bars without saying a word. Sometimes they call me when I do that to check that I went home.

Sometimes I do stupid shit, like take off with strange men in bars or take pills that strangers give me without telling anyone I am with. They yell at me for this, but they understand that I am just like that.

Sometimes I disappear, for days or weeks. Sometimes I shut down and refuse to communicate. They get angry with me for acting like this.

Sometimes, even though I am so obviously wigging out that I show up and don't say anything, but go out and drink pensively all night, they engage me in conversation anyway and they tell me it's okay to talk.

They understand when I come home drunk, in a shopping cart or with traffic cones.

Sometimes, they let me go, when I need to go, without a fight.

They always want me around. They genuinely want me there. When they tell me they miss me, they mean it.

When I lay my foot down, they know I mean it and they listen. I am, the last word. When one member of the group tries to give another a talking too about bad behavior, and they can't get through, I am called in. And when I break it down then, they listen.

I am their voice of reason, and I am fucked up right there with them. I may not be falling down drunk, but I could be on any number of substances and I am still the one, holding everyone up.

It's like medicating the nucleus of the atom. They know my role, they know my responsibility and in that respect they overlook at lot. I am no role model.

I get fucked up, a lot. I organize and I remember and I get everyone home but I am fucked up too. In fairness, I may be more polluted but I have a much better game face.

I date the most bizarre guys and they are nice to them. I bring home strangers and they think it's funny. I always have a new friend in tow, and they are always welcoming. I am never on time. Never, ever, never. Nev-ahhhhhhhhhhh. Sometimes I am cranky. I change my haircolor like some people change their sheets. I am opinionated. I am passionately Democrat. I get feel-the-love-it's-all-around-us-new-age-flaky and they go along with it. I lament about the death of Jerry Garcia while they listen to Matchbox 20 and Live but they give me equal time. I am obsessed with Gregg Allman and they believe that I will be with him one day. They sit around me and think up ridiculous grandiose schemes to help me meet him because they are convinced, he will drop everything and fall in love with me when it happens. (or at least that's what they say).

They scream and yell when I play my harmonica, or my conga or my moracca like I am all Four Beatles at once, even though I can't be very good. They tell me that I own a stage. They say, "You're going to be the one to make it. You're the one." They believe in me even though I'm just the good time girl. The one who remembers and gets everyone home and tucked in. The one who loves MTV and Behind the Music. The one who reads cards and should have been 60's flower child. The one who spouts off about karma during late night. The dreamer. The one who wants to go to Pearl Jam because she wants to see Sonic Youth open. The one who doesn't know what she's doing and blurts that out and then they laugh and say that none of them know either. No one knows.

So there you have it. Decide for yourself.

Martyr, or a bunch of lost souls who somehow have found each other - till death do us part?

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