It's not a word. It's a sentence.
If you look down at the tracks at any Tube station, you are bound to see little brown mice scurrying around. They are usually at the bottom of the three-tiered trench, well below the part of the track where the wheel meads the rail. Sometimes you see them scurry up the curved wall that makes it so cleverly tube-like. You can feel the floor vibrate and look at the digital sign on the platform. CAUTION TRAIN APPROACHING. you look back down at the mice and see them panic. they feel that vibration and start running like crazy up the side of the walls or down further into the trench. then the train arrives and i get on. i never see if the mice make it because i always have a train to catch.
I meet my sisters at the South Kensington Tube station. I havent seen either of them in months but im a little nervous about going to paris with them. Sure, it will be awesome because they have already bought me dinner and drinks and they've only been here 6 hours. It's just that me and one of my sisters constantly bicker, ie today's battles involving me yelling at her for voting for Bush. I know that Kerry got PA but i was feeling righteous, fresh off writing a 15 page paper about US supported terrorism in the Middle East and Latin America. After I rattled off several good points about the rhetoric of absolute good and evil, my sister dropped the bomb.
"when you were six, you borrowed my pet mouse without asking and then accidentally killed it."
debates aside, when a sibling drops long forgotten shit about your horrible pre-memory childhood it is earth shattering. not only was i thinking about the death of mice earlier that day, but when she called me on that fact, i remembered the day in question clearly. I hadn't thought of that in a really long time, but suddenly it was all there. I took out her pet mouse (yes, we had pet mice) and was playing with it while watching nickelodeon. it got away and i looked everywhere for it. after checking the first floor bathroom, i close the door to make sure the mouse wont get in. when i go to shut the door, the mouse ran in and got stuck in the crack made by the open door on the side of the hinges. he started squeaking really loudly and i didnt know what to do, cause if i opened the door one way it could kill him and i didnt know if opening it the other way would kill him too. so instead of getting help i sat back down on the couch and turned up Nickelodeon as loud as i could, until i couldn't hear the squeaking anymore.
This repressed tidbit shot back in my face the moment my sister brought that up, and i was left really shaken. Then i lost our little debate because i know nothing about the economy.
siblings always know just what to say.
ps, some pictures of prague and berlin are up. but not the ones i took.
I meet my sisters at the South Kensington Tube station. I havent seen either of them in months but im a little nervous about going to paris with them. Sure, it will be awesome because they have already bought me dinner and drinks and they've only been here 6 hours. It's just that me and one of my sisters constantly bicker, ie today's battles involving me yelling at her for voting for Bush. I know that Kerry got PA but i was feeling righteous, fresh off writing a 15 page paper about US supported terrorism in the Middle East and Latin America. After I rattled off several good points about the rhetoric of absolute good and evil, my sister dropped the bomb.
"when you were six, you borrowed my pet mouse without asking and then accidentally killed it."
debates aside, when a sibling drops long forgotten shit about your horrible pre-memory childhood it is earth shattering. not only was i thinking about the death of mice earlier that day, but when she called me on that fact, i remembered the day in question clearly. I hadn't thought of that in a really long time, but suddenly it was all there. I took out her pet mouse (yes, we had pet mice) and was playing with it while watching nickelodeon. it got away and i looked everywhere for it. after checking the first floor bathroom, i close the door to make sure the mouse wont get in. when i go to shut the door, the mouse ran in and got stuck in the crack made by the open door on the side of the hinges. he started squeaking really loudly and i didnt know what to do, cause if i opened the door one way it could kill him and i didnt know if opening it the other way would kill him too. so instead of getting help i sat back down on the couch and turned up Nickelodeon as loud as i could, until i couldn't hear the squeaking anymore.
This repressed tidbit shot back in my face the moment my sister brought that up, and i was left really shaken. Then i lost our little debate because i know nothing about the economy.
siblings always know just what to say.
ps, some pictures of prague and berlin are up. but not the ones i took.