August 21, 2004
If you could only bitch once in your life...
Out of all the possible days that I could be living, I get this used-up day. Like a pair of dirty jeans, I've worn this day over and over for many a day. The stench at the crotch has become unbearable. Do I seek it? Does it seek me? Do we seek each other? I don't know, perhaps, could be.
Last night I went to sleep around 4am and the 4th evil beer. Everyone in my household was asleep, and all that could be heard was the little clickety clack that my fingers caused as they rushed through the keyboard. The mouse squealed each time I squished it softly, and the monitor was pushing electrons my way. A fucking cannon they say.
My thoughts just wandered and I had not the strength nor the will to gather them. What use? I chose 5 of the different books that I brought from Berkeley, a couple of new ones I got in Mexico, and three that my dad has around the house. Read a sentence from each one, piled them and went inside to get The Fellowship of the Ring. The elves in my head have always looked differently, more like a drawing I saw once as a kid when I was reading a kid's encyclopedia (that day I also learned about goblins and fairies and gnomes and orcs and trolls) than the gorgeous Orlando Bloom.
I feel bad to admit that I prefer my own elves.
I wasn't into it. I couldn't be. My stupid concentration had gone out with one of my thoughts (the one about how nothing changes between Stan and I yet I feel like nothing's quite the same) and they had no time for getting back. I think they both went to Whimpytown cuz I felt like it was maybe better to go to bed and hide from this night that wasn't getting my freak on, if you know what I mean.
Today I wake up tired at 9am, I'm hungry but lazy to cook anything. No one's awake (my mom's recovering from her surgery, my sister stayed up until 2 reading.... READING!!!... my dad left for his office [earlier than 9am on a Saturday morning... he's self-employed]), and I look at the pile of books that I left last night and I feel afraid and ashamed cuz the porch light's still on, and my stupid concentration, that whore, is still out there with the thought of Stan.
Posted by Jojo at August 21, 2004 11:52 AM