speak slow, tell me love
my new view from the second story of my house (my desk is in front of a window) shows me the street corner and the pretty red and cream house across high street with the peeling tin roof adn the generous porch. the sidewalk looks like it likes to be walked on.
i'm in my sunday clothes (running clothes)counting the intervals between sun and cloud, listening to tegan and sara and admiring my pink nails. some of my old girl friends from last year snubbed me and charlotte last night by not inviting us to a birthday party. it was kind of like seventh grade.
(i didn't mind/never liked them. char cried/i am enraged for her)
and the events that followed have led me here, to my desk, 17some hours later, just thinking.
things have changed so dramatically since last year. i could picture the 10 of them wearing like, elmo birthday hats and drinking one beer in the campus apartments as i snaked my way in 3 inch heels through the dense smoky crowd at some bash in idlewild from an intense game of quarters out onto the deck to smoke and every boy in a polo shirt who put his arm around me was more proof that nothing insincere can make me happy for long but it can make me numb for long enough. i'm less wide eyed, more wild, less bored, more glossy, and just a little
more satisfied.
it's not really me but it's not really lonely.
i feel like the worst person in the world sometimes
for all the times
i opened my mouth and said something mean or snide that i shouldn't have said. for all the times i didn't invite someone, didn't give someone a chance, didn't give someone a smile, refused to understand or care. for going out to some party in and m'ing o in a dark corner to rap music and honestly not caring about elmo party hats, or old suitemates who i forget to remember.
this fall i pray because i want to not because i need to, i fend for myself, and i live in a house full of people i am learning to love who are all trying to make it work.
i might be a bad person for wearing slutty shirts, smoking, and being inappropriate. for not going to church, and for trying to push the limits on weekends because i want to know where they are and what they are, and with whom.
but i'm just growing up and trying to make it work, and in the meantime, i just got the new deathcab (plans) and the sun just washed right over that cream house. i think it's time for wiffleball on the lax field.
i'm in my sunday clothes (running clothes)counting the intervals between sun and cloud, listening to tegan and sara and admiring my pink nails. some of my old girl friends from last year snubbed me and charlotte last night by not inviting us to a birthday party. it was kind of like seventh grade.
(i didn't mind/never liked them. char cried/i am enraged for her)
and the events that followed have led me here, to my desk, 17some hours later, just thinking.
things have changed so dramatically since last year. i could picture the 10 of them wearing like, elmo birthday hats and drinking one beer in the campus apartments as i snaked my way in 3 inch heels through the dense smoky crowd at some bash in idlewild from an intense game of quarters out onto the deck to smoke and every boy in a polo shirt who put his arm around me was more proof that nothing insincere can make me happy for long but it can make me numb for long enough. i'm less wide eyed, more wild, less bored, more glossy, and just a little
more satisfied.
it's not really me but it's not really lonely.
i feel like the worst person in the world sometimes
for all the times
i opened my mouth and said something mean or snide that i shouldn't have said. for all the times i didn't invite someone, didn't give someone a chance, didn't give someone a smile, refused to understand or care. for going out to some party in and m'ing o in a dark corner to rap music and honestly not caring about elmo party hats, or old suitemates who i forget to remember.
this fall i pray because i want to not because i need to, i fend for myself, and i live in a house full of people i am learning to love who are all trying to make it work.
i might be a bad person for wearing slutty shirts, smoking, and being inappropriate. for not going to church, and for trying to push the limits on weekends because i want to know where they are and what they are, and with whom.
but i'm just growing up and trying to make it work, and in the meantime, i just got the new deathcab (plans) and the sun just washed right over that cream house. i think it's time for wiffleball on the lax field.