sleep deprived and thinking way too much
it's eight o'clock in the morning on the tuesday after christmas.
the dogs are running around the house, their nails clicking on the hardwood floors as they try to figure out a way to let the puppy out of her crate.
you can't sleep, but you should. you went to bed at four a.m. after a night of "SceneIt!" movie trivia and ukranian vodka, drives around town for twenty four hour grocery stores that apparently don't exist in this city, and stops at walgreens for cheap dvds and instant mac and cheese.
but the dogs aren't yours and neither were the friends last night, except for a brief interlude of sex and the city between the family chanukah gift exchange and the start of drunknness that always seems to be the final note of nights spent in phoenix. you try to avoid "home," or that house that you grew up in but feels a bit strange now that the remodeling is commencing and the dog and her toys and bed have been whisked out of the house in a flurry of grief; the house is coated in depression right now, and you try to escape but feel guilty for deserting your parents in this time where consolation isn't really a viable option.
so instead you leave, every night out another convincing sign to your parents that you really are an alcoholic, and then the so-called "secret romance," which is anything but romantic, becomes public and there is that much more drama to face.
but for some reason, nothing seems stressful and you kind of coast through, trying to remain oblivious to the feelings around you, enjoying the half burnt latkes along with the wine and mudslides, convincing yourself that everything turns out okay in the end and that you really don't have to drive back to tucson tonight, only to spend the rest of your "break" confined to an unheated office under the stairs.
but you do. and so you brace yourself for one more odd day in phoenix and mentally decipher your schedule, planning when you can next come back up to phoenix.
what a strange turn of events.
the dogs are running around the house, their nails clicking on the hardwood floors as they try to figure out a way to let the puppy out of her crate.
you can't sleep, but you should. you went to bed at four a.m. after a night of "SceneIt!" movie trivia and ukranian vodka, drives around town for twenty four hour grocery stores that apparently don't exist in this city, and stops at walgreens for cheap dvds and instant mac and cheese.
but the dogs aren't yours and neither were the friends last night, except for a brief interlude of sex and the city between the family chanukah gift exchange and the start of drunknness that always seems to be the final note of nights spent in phoenix. you try to avoid "home," or that house that you grew up in but feels a bit strange now that the remodeling is commencing and the dog and her toys and bed have been whisked out of the house in a flurry of grief; the house is coated in depression right now, and you try to escape but feel guilty for deserting your parents in this time where consolation isn't really a viable option.
so instead you leave, every night out another convincing sign to your parents that you really are an alcoholic, and then the so-called "secret romance," which is anything but romantic, becomes public and there is that much more drama to face.
but for some reason, nothing seems stressful and you kind of coast through, trying to remain oblivious to the feelings around you, enjoying the half burnt latkes along with the wine and mudslides, convincing yourself that everything turns out okay in the end and that you really don't have to drive back to tucson tonight, only to spend the rest of your "break" confined to an unheated office under the stairs.
but you do. and so you brace yourself for one more odd day in phoenix and mentally decipher your schedule, planning when you can next come back up to phoenix.
what a strange turn of events.