Monthly Archives: February 2007

I don’t always realize it, but I really live a very pure, natural life, minus my affinity for sugar. This weekend, I’m sure I’ve pickled my liver with all of this cold medication. Short term, it seems so worth it.

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I literally cried alone in my room last night. Crying seems so delightfully indulgent lately. I did get the flower though, stuck in the windshield wiper of my car. It was white with dark pink tips and fairly mangled by the time I got out there.
On another note, sometimes things are good or bad and not just “interesting.”
(The music comes from a mixed cd from a guy about a year ago this spring. I couldn’t tell what was wrong with him, other than the obvious, but it was.)

of the masses

Last time they said that phone tapping had nothing to do with freedoms provided by the Constitution. Today they argued that owning guns was a Constitutional right. I asked if they saw the two as connected. They said no. I tried to clarify. They shook their heads blankly, no. Am I taking crazy pills?

“so you’re pmsing pretty bad, huh?”

My recent outbursts have been due to the fact that I haven’t had television for the past week and a half. (A reaction that I’m not proud of.) Also, a conversation that left me feeling inadequate, poor, and tasteless, reminding me why I tend to/try to make friends who grew up in trailer houses. Today I’ve had an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, homesickness, and saddness. Whenever I don’t have tv, I start getting the feeling that I don’t have any friends.
Today’s mood is also in direct correlation with the weather; when it is sunny before a storm, I’m usually in bed crying for hours, like I was today–out of the shower, socks pulled up, tight skin, wet, tangled hair providing moisture to my bedding/bug and bacteria breeding ground.

Re-plying him

The other morning when you stayed, I realized I could wake up every morning like that, to you studying Chemistry on the kitchen table. How could we have interpreted that morning so differently? Like, was he in there holding a straw up to her cracked lips to drink or was he taking advantage of her induced semi-consciousness? I imagined being nudged in the middle of the night to you breathless about an idea or a dream you just had. I want you to wake me up in the morning to the song you downloaded from the movie you made me watch the night before with the composer whose work you admire. I want you to conduct on my spine. I want you to manage everything all at once or wrapped tightly in a blanket. I want to smell good to you. I want there to be enough time—time where you’re glad to give, focused, concentrated. I want you to indulge with me, and I want you to realize that it’s transcendent and light. I want you to not think I’m dragging you down to hell. I want you to accept subjectivity and abstraction—the vagueness in me and not assume that I’m bad. I want you not to measure it—not what’s in your hand, but the time you wasted on the phone, or the hour you’ll spare, or the past 8 months out of your life you’ve wasted. Treat me like you cry in the movies, like the look on your face, like the dead bird on your porch.