I've been very good. I've been soaking my toothbrush and tongue scraper in hydrogen peroxide and water every night... shit, I've been scraping my tongue.
I deserve this.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Somewhere a King Has No Wife
"If I was painfully honest, I'd come out as bisexual," she said.
I put down my spoon. "Really," I said.
"Oh, don't look so shocked," she said dismissively, oblivious to the difference between shock and surprise. "I like men the most, but I've always been attracted to women." She reached for the pepper shaker and seasoned her salad heavily.
"But if I came out," she continued, "I'd have to change my Facebook. Then I'd be one of those bi girls that everyone hates, and my Catholic-school friends wouldn't speak to me. Also, women might hit on me, and I don't want that."
She chewed pensively, her eyes in zero gravity.
"So it's a good thing you're a fucking liar," I said.
"Yes," she said, spearing a leaf of spinach with her fork, "it's a good thing I'm a fucking liar."
"Your nose is in my soup," I said.
She tilted her head, and seventeen inches away, my meal was liberated.
I put down my spoon. "Really," I said.
"Oh, don't look so shocked," she said dismissively, oblivious to the difference between shock and surprise. "I like men the most, but I've always been attracted to women." She reached for the pepper shaker and seasoned her salad heavily.
"But if I came out," she continued, "I'd have to change my Facebook. Then I'd be one of those bi girls that everyone hates, and my Catholic-school friends wouldn't speak to me. Also, women might hit on me, and I don't want that."
She chewed pensively, her eyes in zero gravity.
"So it's a good thing you're a fucking liar," I said.
"Yes," she said, spearing a leaf of spinach with her fork, "it's a good thing I'm a fucking liar."
"Your nose is in my soup," I said.
She tilted her head, and seventeen inches away, my meal was liberated.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Johanna
Inexplicably she is old, with skin like honey leather.
"Which one do you regret the most?" I ask.
She responds with silence. I can see her chewing her bottom lip.
"That one?" I suggest, pointing at a skull rendered in ghastly detail on the curve of her waist.
"Nah, I really like that one," she says in a hickory-smoked voice. She thinks or continues to marinate; I can't tell. Then she lifts a stubby finger and places it accusingly on the inside of her wrist.
"This one," she says, and I notice the outline of a circle near her fingertip.
"Why?" I ask.
"I got it to remind me of infinity. I don't like it now. I don't believe in that shit anymore."
This is what I like about her, how she wheezes harmonica through her teeth.
"Which one do you regret the most?" I ask.
She responds with silence. I can see her chewing her bottom lip.
"That one?" I suggest, pointing at a skull rendered in ghastly detail on the curve of her waist.
"Nah, I really like that one," she says in a hickory-smoked voice. She thinks or continues to marinate; I can't tell. Then she lifts a stubby finger and places it accusingly on the inside of her wrist.
"This one," she says, and I notice the outline of a circle near her fingertip.
"Why?" I ask.
"I got it to remind me of infinity. I don't like it now. I don't believe in that shit anymore."
This is what I like about her, how she wheezes harmonica through her teeth.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Debaser
Today smelt of Palmolive and darkness. Today sounded like the Pixies.
Here is today:
It is 6:00, 8:00 dark, quiet. A guy my age walks up to the counter. He looks familiar, with chin-length hair, wideset eyes, a beaky nose and a lack of forehead. I'm surprised when he speaks without a Slavic accent.
"Just black tea, please," he says.
"Which type?" I ask.
"I don't know, black."
"We have Chai and English Breakfast in bags."
"English Breakfast, then."
I grab two teabags and start assembling the drink on the counter.
"Do you go to Paly?" he asks. "I think you were in my math class last year."
I squint and place his face.
"Algebra 2, Hawkins?" he follows up.
"Yeah!" I say. "That's right." I grab the cup to fill it, getting another look at him. "Do you still go to Paly?" I ask. "I don't think I see you around much."
He nods. "But I was only here one semester last year."
"Oh, okay." Boiling water and a lid on top, on the counter et voila. He pays; we exchange "See ya"s. I take fifty trips outside to bring out boxes and every time I see him sitting there, smoking and sipping.
Here is today:
It is 6:00, 8:00 dark, quiet. A guy my age walks up to the counter. He looks familiar, with chin-length hair, wideset eyes, a beaky nose and a lack of forehead. I'm surprised when he speaks without a Slavic accent.
"Just black tea, please," he says.
"Which type?" I ask.
"I don't know, black."
"We have Chai and English Breakfast in bags."
"English Breakfast, then."
I grab two teabags and start assembling the drink on the counter.
"Do you go to Paly?" he asks. "I think you were in my math class last year."
I squint and place his face.
"Algebra 2, Hawkins?" he follows up.
"Yeah!" I say. "That's right." I grab the cup to fill it, getting another look at him. "Do you still go to Paly?" I ask. "I don't think I see you around much."
He nods. "But I was only here one semester last year."
"Oh, okay." Boiling water and a lid on top, on the counter et voila. He pays; we exchange "See ya"s. I take fifty trips outside to bring out boxes and every time I see him sitting there, smoking and sipping.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Weeds and Roots
A creative dry spell. My eyes feel like milky marbles. There is probably something better than sitting in front of the computer retracing my tracks on Facebook.
Here is today:
I plunge a knife into a tub of cream cheese and bring it back up with a big hefty glob. The more that I look at this glob, the more I understand how badly I want to fling it at something.
Slightly Stoopid is playing and he has decided to snap to the beat.
"Stop snapping," I say.
He continues.
"If you don't stop snapping, I'm going to glob you with cream cheese." Now I have a reason.
He keeps snapping. I'm excited.
"I'll do it," I say.
A few snaps later, I flick my wrist and the glob flies solidly and does something on his shirt, plops, glops, blops, plobs; onomatopoeia escapes me. He exclaims indignantly and tries to wipe it off, eventually making the mess three times worse.
"Let me," I offer. I wet a paper towel and take my time.
Bad
Dirty hair
Zits
Bad clothes
Feeling pretentious
Feeling annoying
Having talked an inordinate amount
Unproductivity (sometimes)
Good
Waking up just before the alarm goes off
Nooks
Honest work for honest pay
Cleanliness
Here is today:
I plunge a knife into a tub of cream cheese and bring it back up with a big hefty glob. The more that I look at this glob, the more I understand how badly I want to fling it at something.
Slightly Stoopid is playing and he has decided to snap to the beat.
"Stop snapping," I say.
He continues.
"If you don't stop snapping, I'm going to glob you with cream cheese." Now I have a reason.
He keeps snapping. I'm excited.
"I'll do it," I say.
A few snaps later, I flick my wrist and the glob flies solidly and does something on his shirt, plops, glops, blops, plobs; onomatopoeia escapes me. He exclaims indignantly and tries to wipe it off, eventually making the mess three times worse.
"Let me," I offer. I wet a paper towel and take my time.
Bad
Dirty hair
Zits
Bad clothes
Feeling pretentious
Feeling annoying
Having talked an inordinate amount
Unproductivity (sometimes)
Good
Waking up just before the alarm goes off
Nooks
Honest work for honest pay
Cleanliness
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