Rant and Ramble

well, i've discovered why people think california's so great.
'cuz up until recently, they had to go through nevada to get there.
and idaho.

though really, it's got its own beauty about it. used to the buildings in philly and the trees in monterey, everything seemed stunted and squashed for a while, the colors all muted and the sky so big... but the people are nice, and really i'm ridiculously content sitting for hours staring out the window and listening to live and counting crows.

also, i can attest to the existance of tom's tangerine sours, even in tiny little cowboy towns in nevada. i would, however, advise against eating the entire tin between elko and winnemuca.

off we go at eight AM tomorrow.
i'm toting the laptop along.
i'll do what i can.

i never want to pack again.

she's not my dog any more than she is anyone else's, she just happens to be my favorite. she's the second dog of ours i remember; the first has been dead a while. ignore the fact that the other one won all the ribbons and trained for search-and-rescue - she's the smartest. ignore the fact that the other other one is the tiny fluffy one - she's the cutest. she's the one that always curled on my bed, feet up in the air and tongue rolling, the one that wiggled until she fell over when i pet her.

she's nearly blind now and deaf more than that. there's a tumor the size of a baseball under one leg and a sore on her foot where she chews obsessively. she didn't recognize me when i came home. a moment ago, she was engaged in trying to knock over that strange dog in the mirror, but she stopped suddenly, confused, and bumped along the wall on her way out.
i think i might cry.

the barber's dog remembered me, and so did the barber. my sister's boyfriend asked me about school and then they and my brother began making cookies. on my way out, i waved to a neighbor helping his brother move in up the street. i saw a friend at the store, chatted with the check-out lady, and then waved to a different neighbor as we passed. my cousin is coming over tonight because she'll be dogsitting for us while we're gone.
ah, yes. community. now i remember.

home.
the toilet seat shifts in exactly the same way when you sit on it; my little brother still pees all over it, too. the dogs still bark at seven in the morning, cats still fight on the rooftop outside my window. my room smells the same; in fact, the whole house smells the same. they rearranged some of my photos and gave me my old stereo - my brother refused to surrender the one he stole when i left. i'd forgotton which cabinet the mugs were in, and my closet is full of my sister's clothes.

it's strange for this to be "home" now. it's strange to have a house full of people and pets and parents. it's strange to wake up alone on a queen-sized bed to silence. strange to be typing on a full-sized computer with a full-sized keyboard.

on thursday, we're leaving for the final family vacation - three weeks culminating in an eleven-day jaunt in montana. wish me luck.

also: lost a link.

"it's a heart break even situation/one part powerful elation/one part pitiful and free" -ani

all the acoustics in the room have changed.
yes, this is a metaphor.

the music ricochets off newlybare walls. i don't speak; there is no longer anyone here to listen. the silence creeps in through the ceiling, peeling down the walls and drifting down to nestle with my suitcases piled like an abortive pyramid against the blankness where the refrigerator was covered in magnetic poetry. everything i own except this computer and my telephone is stifled away - three suitcases, four boxes, two underbed storage crates, and a plastic bag.

i've thrown away or donated three pairs of pants, half a dozen shirts, six months' worth of design work, fishnets, flipflops, five cans of soup, eight packages of oriental flavored ramen, a bookbag, a sweater stolen from an ex-boyfriend, photographs of my siblings, oil and vinegar, an ice cube tray, two almostfull jars of gesso and one of matte meduim, two sets of sheets, one sheet of plexiglass, six feet of balsa wood, 1200 square inches of illustration board, two tins of altoids, a hairbrush, a purse, four rubberbands, macademnia nuts, and all the remnants of a life that i'm no longer entirely sure was real.

i have too much stuff.

a few more words.

she has a job now, so she was up and out by eight; her alarm hardly penetrated my consciousness. a few hours later, the sticky heat pried me awake and prompted me to peel my pajamas off before going back to sleep. i don't think he budged the whole time, except to kick the covers off and grumble incoherently.

at some point we woke up and drowsily recited our dreams, but the bed was too soft and the room too warm, and soon we succumbed to sleep again. when we finally pried ourselves out of bed, it was one in the afternoon. we ambled down to lunch, and afterwards i dragged him over to the university barbershop.



"you don't want it shorter than that, do you?"

the bus came down the street and turned right into a little alley. used its turnsignals and everything. it was a yellow school bus of the typical variety, with one exception: no windshield. the shiny yellow metal slid smoothly across the front of the bus with no visible opening of any sort.
i snatched at the sleeve of the person next to me. "blind bus! did you see that? it was a blind bus!"
they rolled their eyes - until the next one came down the street a moment later, and made the same right turn. i was thoroughly indignant - busses aren't allowed to go without windshields! i hope they crash!

earlier, we'd been watching the film majors' senior project show, and people began singing in latin. i asked the guy next to me if he spoke latin - he said no, but he thought it was from the bible, and we left in search of someone who spoke latin. we passed a girl whose sandal had fallen apart, and she bemoaned the loss loudly while a friend tried to comfort her.

a bit later, i tried to take a shower, but the cleaning lady was there so i came back to my room. it wasn't till i had unlocked the door that i realized i'd brought only my toothbrush. when i got inside, i couldn't find my towel anywhere.

really, dreams are much stranger when they almost make sense.

new comments.

so speak up already!

my pink lemonade contains "glycerol ester of wood rosin."

why does my pink lemonade contain glycerol ester of wood rosin?

i don't want to drink any more pink lemonade.
ever.

the other night a poem flew from mind to hastily-scrambled-for napkin and pen, springing fully formed from my head, each word following fluidly until the final period set itself down.

it's been a while; it was nice.

it is an exceptionally beautiful day. the sun has been out in full force for weeks now, but usually paired with the wetcotton heavyair humidity that makes everything seem miserable by association. today, though, it is pleasantly warm with a sweet little breeze. later, i'll go outside and read under a tree. right now, there is a large, sharpie-written sign stuck to the airconditioner with a magnet my mom gave me for christmas. the sign reads: THIS IS MY PROJECT!

it is not my professor's project.
it is not my parents' project.
it is not even my roommate's project or my boyfriend's project, nor that of the guy who lives upstairs or any of my classmates.

it is my project.
it will be done to my standards and to my liking.
the professor can fuck himself if he doesn't like it, and my parents can take whatever grade i'm given, and i don't have to compare myself to anyone.

so there.

honestly, i think god sits up there looking for women who are having a bad day. then he chuckles to himself and goes ZAP! and the woman doubles over, bursts into tears, and starts bleeding.

y'know what, god? it's really not all that funny, and i'd appreciate it if you'd confine your sick sense of humor to a time when i'm not fully prepared to kill the next small animal that looks at me funny. or at least a time when i might have opportunity to do so.

thank you.

i'm tired of leaving.
i'm tired of saying goodbye.

i want to hold still, i want the world to stop spinning for one goddamned moment so that i can collect myself and blow my nose before i have to tear it all down again, before it all comes crashing down again and put into little neat boxes with printed labels that i can lock up and send before me until i get on one more airplane and leave the only thing that makes me want to stay. i have little love for this city or this school but i'd rather remain than leave again. and i know that the time between is short and that what flies between us is stronger than mere months and i know we are each stronger than that distance as well, but it seems like every time i turn away, something beautiful dies. i don't want the silent airplane ride home. i don't want to leave.

pms is not a good accomanyment to high stress and being alone.

i know i have to go, i even know that i should. i want to go home, and i don't want to stay here. i just can't stand the thought of leaving. if i could somehow flip my life from a dorm in phiadelphia to a room in california without the moment of transition, the whole thing would sit much more nicely with me.

it was a beautiful morning.
i ruined it by bawling all over the place.
i'm sorry.