It's perfectly suited, this Uniform Grey
Rrrrrrrring, the phone says, and I ignore it as utterly as I can, rolling back into a dream in which I am making out with someone rather unlikely.
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrring.
Fuggoff, it's bloody 2pm, the middle of the fucking night.
RRRRRRRRING, I SAID!!!
Goddamn phones, they're all over my life these days.
"Mphphello?"
"Hey, it's me, what's up, what're you doing?"
(ohforgodssake.)
"Juss wakin up."
"Okay, I'm coming over with coffee."
"What -- right now?"
"Well yeah, I'm by the Commons, on my way to your house..."
He's allowed to do this to me, although I can't possibly imagine why. I pull myself out of bed, unlock the front door and jump in the shower.
I've just reemerged when he bursts into my still-sleepy world with a loud smile, a ridiculous tan and a tall takeaway cup from Alteregos. Plenty of cream and no sugar.
I get dressed while he smokes on the front stoop, then I join him. We sip our coffees quietly, it's that kind of day; somehow we both recognize this and although we have much to talk about, it would be horribly wrong to exhaust it all with language today. Words need to suggest rather than say at this point, and that's okay - after all, that's what we do best. We've always been this way; we're kings of ambiguity. We're the Royal Ambiguits.
The air tastes like someone's breath.
We talk about gypsy music, and gemstones that heal broken hearts, and sharks in unpredictable waters. Then he says, If I were a diabetic you'd be my insulin, and I laugh and say, It's because I'm trying to save you from yourself, and he says, But then again
"If I were an alcoholic you'd be a shot of Jack Daniels, taken in the garage while my wife watches TV."
"Hm. Well, maybe if you were a straight alcoholic."
"...And the kids ask Mom, where's Daddy, and Mom says, Oh he's just taking out the garbage."
And I ask him, Have you ever read Girls Are Pretty? And he says no, and I spend something like fifteen minutes trying to explain why he should read it and why I can't explain why he should read it, short of saying "it's the kind of thing we like, that's all".
And then we talk about my front stoop and how magical it is, because it's exactly what summer in-betweens are all about.
He walks me to the cornerstore and wanders off on his own, my coffee still only half-drunk and half-cold in my hand. I want to make him stay and talk to me longer, because half-way's not good enough, never good enough, and these days more than any other time I'm chin-deep in half-ways; but the wonderful irony of this strikes me just as I'm about to get disappointed, and instead helps bring my spirits up. I'm humming under my breath as I walk back up Creighton, to my house and my computer and my script.
Hold on! It's never enough
It's never enough until your heart stops beating
The deeper you get, the sweeter the pain
Don't give up the game until your heart stops beating
~New Order
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrring.
Fuggoff, it's bloody 2pm, the middle of the fucking night.
RRRRRRRRING, I SAID!!!
Goddamn phones, they're all over my life these days.
"Mphphello?"
"Hey, it's me, what's up, what're you doing?"
(ohforgodssake.)
"Juss wakin up."
"Okay, I'm coming over with coffee."
"What -- right now?"
"Well yeah, I'm by the Commons, on my way to your house..."
He's allowed to do this to me, although I can't possibly imagine why. I pull myself out of bed, unlock the front door and jump in the shower.
I've just reemerged when he bursts into my still-sleepy world with a loud smile, a ridiculous tan and a tall takeaway cup from Alteregos. Plenty of cream and no sugar.
I get dressed while he smokes on the front stoop, then I join him. We sip our coffees quietly, it's that kind of day; somehow we both recognize this and although we have much to talk about, it would be horribly wrong to exhaust it all with language today. Words need to suggest rather than say at this point, and that's okay - after all, that's what we do best. We've always been this way; we're kings of ambiguity. We're the Royal Ambiguits.
The air tastes like someone's breath.
We talk about gypsy music, and gemstones that heal broken hearts, and sharks in unpredictable waters. Then he says, If I were a diabetic you'd be my insulin, and I laugh and say, It's because I'm trying to save you from yourself, and he says, But then again
"If I were an alcoholic you'd be a shot of Jack Daniels, taken in the garage while my wife watches TV."
"Hm. Well, maybe if you were a straight alcoholic."
"...And the kids ask Mom, where's Daddy, and Mom says, Oh he's just taking out the garbage."
And I ask him, Have you ever read Girls Are Pretty? And he says no, and I spend something like fifteen minutes trying to explain why he should read it and why I can't explain why he should read it, short of saying "it's the kind of thing we like, that's all".
And then we talk about my front stoop and how magical it is, because it's exactly what summer in-betweens are all about.
He walks me to the cornerstore and wanders off on his own, my coffee still only half-drunk and half-cold in my hand. I want to make him stay and talk to me longer, because half-way's not good enough, never good enough, and these days more than any other time I'm chin-deep in half-ways; but the wonderful irony of this strikes me just as I'm about to get disappointed, and instead helps bring my spirits up. I'm humming under my breath as I walk back up Creighton, to my house and my computer and my script.
Hold on! It's never enough
It's never enough until your heart stops beating
The deeper you get, the sweeter the pain
Don't give up the game until your heart stops beating
~New Order