(no subject)
5/31/10
He can't close his eyes. He's hot to the touch, burning. And I'm swearing to heaven and baking cookies. Oatmeal, honey, banana, peanut butter, anything I can find. Tell me something, Jesus Christ, say something. She sends me pictures of brand new twin boys whose parents I don't know. For some reason this comforts me. I listen to the song on repeat for 45 minutes. And pace. I can't wait to work. I can't wait to type all day long, type until my wrists burn, use my sweet voice answering telephone calls. Somedays holidays are the worst days.
6/16/10
How easily we forget. We let days breeze past and comfort us in their numbers. Saying "it's been so long since. . ." And I know for sure it's been four weeks since we drove through the desert. Only four. 28 days ago. My favorite part was the sage brush in the foothills - particularly the way the ground felt under my feet. I would have liked to stay there. But we came back and things got bad and so better so quickly that we forced down the discomfort and slept away the fear. Blahblah blah. And I made some invitations and they look pretty and I made some big plans and no one asked, and still, no one knows. I smile to my coworkers and help them pack boxes and throw away papers. We're moving across town, as fast as can be, we're getting out. Nearly six years since the first time I stepped into that building, and just a few more days until the last. And I say nothing. On the day he lost his job, I got lost in northeast and drove home drinking tea. When I got there my mom was three days without sleep and my dad had been crying. We sat around the table and I was afraid to move. All weekend. And then I danced. And now she's calling me in tears about the state of the world and I have no words. So she tells me she has to go. And he cries in his bubble. Telling me he hates the state of the world. And I have words that I yell until I'm scared to move. And I cry to the music and have no words about the state of the world. He didn't remember what he did for days. He drove and spoke and ate in nonsense. He sold a 15 dollar cd for 15 cents and now he cries on his bed, listening to music with headphones on, with no words, about the state of the world. And you're the only one who will listen.
He can't close his eyes. He's hot to the touch, burning. And I'm swearing to heaven and baking cookies. Oatmeal, honey, banana, peanut butter, anything I can find. Tell me something, Jesus Christ, say something. She sends me pictures of brand new twin boys whose parents I don't know. For some reason this comforts me. I listen to the song on repeat for 45 minutes. And pace. I can't wait to work. I can't wait to type all day long, type until my wrists burn, use my sweet voice answering telephone calls. Somedays holidays are the worst days.
6/16/10
How easily we forget. We let days breeze past and comfort us in their numbers. Saying "it's been so long since. . ." And I know for sure it's been four weeks since we drove through the desert. Only four. 28 days ago. My favorite part was the sage brush in the foothills - particularly the way the ground felt under my feet. I would have liked to stay there. But we came back and things got bad and so better so quickly that we forced down the discomfort and slept away the fear. Blahblah blah. And I made some invitations and they look pretty and I made some big plans and no one asked, and still, no one knows. I smile to my coworkers and help them pack boxes and throw away papers. We're moving across town, as fast as can be, we're getting out. Nearly six years since the first time I stepped into that building, and just a few more days until the last. And I say nothing. On the day he lost his job, I got lost in northeast and drove home drinking tea. When I got there my mom was three days without sleep and my dad had been crying. We sat around the table and I was afraid to move. All weekend. And then I danced. And now she's calling me in tears about the state of the world and I have no words. So she tells me she has to go. And he cries in his bubble. Telling me he hates the state of the world. And I have words that I yell until I'm scared to move. And I cry to the music and have no words about the state of the world. He didn't remember what he did for days. He drove and spoke and ate in nonsense. He sold a 15 dollar cd for 15 cents and now he cries on his bed, listening to music with headphones on, with no words, about the state of the world. And you're the only one who will listen.