Silster Wilster, Ch. 11

I wish I were 22 again.

If I were 22 again, I would go to San Francisco and live at the San Francisco Zen Center.

For awhile anyway.

Then I would get bored.   I've heard all the women at the place are pale and skinny.

I suppose that's what happens when you stay indoors all day looking down.

So then I go down to the Occupy encampment on Market Street.

And try to feel the vibes, get political, and of course look for women.

I'm 22 remember--so what would you expect?

But I would quickly discovery that all the women are gone.

And what's left are a bunch of homeless men.

With cool nicknames.

For that's what men do when there are no women around.

They make up nicknames.

So I would discontinue my estrogen treatments

and get a few testosterone shots

and go out looking for more women.

Because that's what 22 year olds do, right?

But I would keep the protests going

at least in my mind.

Foremost in my thoughts would be my separation from my best friend

who has been almost like a sister to me since I have been born.

In fact, maybe she is my sister?  Pesky genetic tests.

I'm going to protest her separation from me

and the vile evil spell that she is under

and the fact that she is too busy drinking Kombucha to respond to my texts.

I would not mind her not responding to me.

If she was getting a little down there.

But word on the street is that she's doing everything oral.

and that's just not good hygiene.

I just wish she would brush that girl right out of her hair, and find

 a real cunning linguist.

Hell, where i'm going in a couple of weeks, it would be just a stone's thow away.

I wish I were 22 again.