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steak. tips, to be exact. with worcestshire asuce and the pepper, the way you always like it but he never did. no mashed potatoes to be had-be healthy, eat BROCCOLI! pour yourself a rooster of pinot grigio and decide just which plate to dine off of. the first instinct? olive green metal. you opt for the pumpkin fiesta ware. think for a moment. it is really a monumental decision with rippling impacts. you know it is the choice to be made. with three candles lit, you admire judt how lovely the green of the broccoli look on pumpkin orange.
cutting the hair off is a liberating experience. to feel the wind on the back of my neck again. its been too long. a bit boyish, i know... but i am secretly bobby brady, so i honestly don't mind looking like an eight year old boy. had supper, gin and tonics, and cigarettes with katie. we laughed at her passport picture from when she was fourteen. it is an awkward age for everyone, i think. myself included. god i was ugly. i found a picture of me flipping the bird to the camera when my hair was short and BLACK.
we talk about sex. we talk about how we miss the feelings of each others bodies and all the things we want to do when we see each other. he says that short hair will make it that much easier to kiss the back of my neck and not get my hair in his mouth. he has a good point there. i positioned the bed and the giant vanity mirror just so. i will say anything and everything and not feel ashamed or shy. it is indeed who i am and there is no reason at all to hide myself.
the excitement builds with each passing hour and you wonder how you got along before this. the constant fluttering and the dreamy eyes and the tingling on your skin. the sweet anticipation of the touch. the weeknights seem long when there is something to look forward to. the sun makes you smile and you think of ice cream and walks and hazel eyes that never shy away. it is funny when things all start falling into place and making sense in ways that you never thought they could. there is no set plan, despite what you would like to think.
wake up to the warmth of a body that has become familiar in a short time. at times it seems impossible. you pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming. you are not. it is actually happening. you close your eyes and open them again to make sure it is not leftover hallucinations from your heady days. but no. he is still there, sleeping next to you. you want to kiss his eyelids and his nose and his cute chin and that little scar that gives his face such character. it is the start to a lovely day.
in the dark of the theater we sit next to each other, with the armrest raised to be closer. there is this need to be near each other, to have skin touching skin... my hand is on your arm, feeling the strength of it under my fingers... you whisper in my ear and i laugh.... on the ride home you hang on to the pole with one arm and me with the other. i do not need to take hold of anything but you. you pull me closer and i breath in the scent of your sweatshirt. it is perfect.
play the records and think of good things. carol king and acoustic guitars and banana waffles with mugs of tea. ice cream in bed and walking in the dark. he is gentleman. sweet and kind in ways you are not used to, but have always hoped for. the distant makes the time together more meaningful. you think too much about the near future and how you want to pick apples and walk in snow and when you are laying in bed with his hand on the small of your back you turn away because you do not want him to see you cry.
my stomach is tied in one thousand knots and i want to lay on the floor curled into the fetal position. my eyes are glassy and my head is foggy and i think i should leave work to go to walden pond and get stoned by myself and dig my toes in the sand and fall asleep dreaming about hazel eyes and scarred chins and all the wonderful things that haven't happened yet. the pressure is making me want to pop and i have urges to scratch my skin off. ibuprohpen does nothing for me after all these years.
there is an obligation that i hate. it is unfortunate that i have to rely on him for anything. it is even more unfortunate that he is a drunk ass who makes me feel about two inches tall. he has some real nerve, telling me how to be a good daughter. how about i tell you how to be a good father? i bet you would love that. you have no idea what i am thinking, and you probably never will. and no matter how far i go, you will be a ghost haunting me. fuck you for that.
a repeat of the previous night. drunken slurred words as you tell me everything you told me the night before, and you keep on repeating it. do you think i don't listen? that i am deaf like aunt margaret? you'd be surprised at how well i can tune you out. its a skill that i have honed over the past twenty-five years, and i don't think i could survive without it. but you are going to give me money for my gas bill, so i will go on sunday and smile and be the perfect little daughter like you want.
our conversation changes course, and we find ourselves discussing the role reversal. i try to change the subject a few times, because i don't want to show my detachment, but she loves the drama of it and brings it back up. so i talk. and all the talking leaves me with this empty feeling in my gut. like an orphan? no. similar to that feeling i would get when i would wait excitedly all day for my dad to show up and then he wouldn't (couldn't) cause he was too drunk. i never thought these feeling would apply to my mother.
it is the end of an era, an end of an era... she kept repeating throughtout our night of drunken mad libs and stoned board games. lots of laughter and the dirty talk that is inevitable when you combine the two girls and various kinds of mind-altering substances. tim looked embaressed more than once, but being the good guy that he is, went along with all of it and hugged me extra tight at the end of the night. i couldn't leave the porch without having one last cigarette. sutie hugged too many times to count. no tears were shed.
to see him there... a horrific experience. moaning and coughing... opening his eyes but not recognizing who was standing by his bed. my dad and i waited in the solarium for my sister to show up and he told me about uncle donald and the molasses jar with my grammy's picutre on it. we heard one man yelling to go to the bathroom and another one asked us each to help him to bed. i saw my dad give my grampy water through a sippy cup and then wipe the dribble off his chin. i want to throw up now.
thinking about mortality. a girl i barely know is on life support and may die because someone hit her while she was riding her bike. she is the type if person that is always excited and smiling. the type of girl who is always ready to dance and sing and laugh. and now what? and my grampy... and my dad saying that he will kill himself before he ends up like one of those old men... and my mom slowly killing herself and not caring. my eyes feel hot and heavy now and a storm is brewing inside and out.
he came up last night only to make me smile. and i did. and he made it easy to forgot all that is going on. today i found out that she passed away, and though i didn't know her very well, i knew that she was a bright spot in a sea of greys. and now she is gone. this is affecting in ways i wasn't expecting. am i living life to the fullest? what is the most important thing? am i making a difference? if i die tomorrow will you remember me? will you know that i loved you?
yesterday was filled with important conversations. some on the phone, others at a booth over two coronas and a red stripe. the beer-soaked conversations of three old friends revolved around cats and relationships and marijuana. we didn't speak of her, aside from the chastizing they received for being without helmets. one phone conversation lasted over an hour and contained words that i desparately wanted/needed to hear. i never claimed to not be a worrywart. the non-existant plans have been altered, he is ok with that. the other phone conversation was just as long, and touched upon various subjects that needed discussing.
longest day. keeping busy hoping to make it go by quickly, but it seems to drag on and on. alone in the office, trying to keep awake. what do they say? if you can't sleep, eat. if you can't eat, sleep. so you eat. force water down and hope to flush out the exhaustion. thirteen hours and there it is, that feeling so similiar to coming down from a good high, but without the actual high. (drug trip, it's not a drug trip, so you feel a bit insulted) home from work, get stoned, do laundry, eat a tuna sandwich.
a tiny headache brewing. the humidity leaves me feeling damp and disgusting. i do not want to try on another bridesmaid dress and sweat into it. i do not want to ride on the T and smell all the awful smells. i just want to lay in my bed with my head on his chest and close my eyes and breath in his scent. i find such comfort in that. is that wrong? is it wrong to want to be close to him and hear his heart beating? to be able to look into the hazel eyes and forget yesterday?
walk walk walk down beacon street hand in hand busy bee breakfast reminders of days past my treat this time sit in the run down park and toss bits to the birds head on your shoulder and smile see the opus dog little roly poly sausage and again around the block tent shopping and sleeping bags and my opinion matters walk walk walk down to newbury street in the sun listen to cds and laugh with arms around each other sit in the garden and people watch always some body parts touching a day that leaves us tired but content
it took a long time to get out of the city. the rental car was tall. blast the snoop dogg and think in amazement that the cd is eleven years old. (remember when it was new?!) its been a long week for some, lives have changed in drastic ways. it shows on his face, so we do our best to make him laugh with our silly behavior. she checked out the fifteen year old boy in the red shorts while he played frisbee. we ate chips and drank lukewarm beer from a gatorade bottle. polaroids remind us of good things.
her life is a soap opera. it has been for at least ten years. we have known each other since the fall of 1990. almost fourteen years. and in those fourteen years we have obviously changed and evolved... but i can't help but feel like she continues to make the wrong choices, only now her choices affect her daughters too. i hope she realizes that before she does something rash. not that i am telling her to stay in a marriage that she is not happy in, i am not. but she needs to needs to be sure about her decisions.
the haunting left me haunted and a bit nervous and really missing that warm body in my bed. thoughts of the fourth of july leave me excited and optimistic. laying on the beach with my toes in the sand, playing mini golf, going to the drive-in, eating lobsters.... these are the things that good summers consist of... being in love... i never imagined that i would feel this way about him. i can sit in silence on the phone and just listen to him breath. i feel so good when i am with him. its like nothing i've ever known before.
what if i am making the wrong decision? after giving her my two cents, being sure not to show my dismay and disappointment, it made me think. she has consistently made bad choices for over four years. what makes me so sure that i haven't been too? because i am not the one married with children? but where am i? what have i got that is so spectacular and amazing? him? i'd like to think so. but who's to say that won't be over in a month? why do i have such a great fear of the unknown? get over it.
the ciders and the heat and the headache made me weepy and confused about my life. there are no clear cut answers. i was smoked out and sad about realizing that sutie is right when she says its the end of an era. its definitely the end of something. and of course every end brings a new beginning... so where is mine? is he it? and what will come along with it? i don't know. i can't rely on it, just in case. i need to make my own fresh start. but how do i do that when i have no idea?
look to the right corner of your right eye and feel the pain. if it hurts, do not do it, the obvious answer. busy yourself with many things in order not to miss anyone. knowing that during the drive up all you want are the cds not in the car, not in your house, but with him. knowing that as soon as you get up there, to your hometown, you will want to back track and run away. there are too many ghosts and zombies up there. the air is thick with defeat and it makes you want throw up.
it is amazing when you are ready to spend an entire day and upwards of one hundred dollars in order to find a perfect bikini, and not only do you find it in the first store you stop at, but the bottoms fit without the poopy butt look you've been trying so hard to avoid AND they are on SALE and the top has ORANGE, BROWN, and PINK and you think you look hot, and she confirms this fact... when was the last time bikini shopping was this successful? oh right, never. and of course, brown flip flops are essential.
fast eddie and the fish and bobby and all the other crazy big bellied men smiled at us and poured us drinks and kept offering to refill them... did we want fruit? where were we from? how do we know each other? do we date? not even sometimes? what do all her tatoos mean? how come you have none? bonnie and meghan, two good irish girls... and good irish girls like italian men. remember we are always welcome, the fifth condo... always beer and water and cuckoo juice for us to enjoy. meghan always seems to attract the strange ones.
monday monday monday. the start of another week and a new countdown until the weekend. the summer is moving quickly, and i have not been to cape cop yet. it doesn't seem as important, the location... its just about being together, really... the conversations on sunday night... the wendy's and the marijuana and six feet under... these are things i value very much right now. i know who my friends are, i know who i can trust and who will always listen to me. i am lucky. i don't need a lot of people around me to pad my fall.
locked myself out of the apartment early in the morning. a year ago that would be enough to make me cry. but now? eh. no big deal. close my knee in the car door. its just another day. the daily routine of smashing my elbow in the edge of my desk. sure, i curse and growl. but its all a part of the routine. going with the flow is easier now for some reason. is that because i am getting older? i am mellowing out with my old age? i suppose that is alright. its nice to not get upset.
last night. oh wow. i am exhausted today but in the best kind of way. his voice does something to me. his words. i can't wait for him to be laying next to me, to feel his breath on my neck and hear his voice so close in my ear... this is seriously mind blowing. thinking back to last year... having those dreams of him and being confused... wanting to smack him most of the time... to now... i can't get thoughts of him out of my head. his little scarred chin. those eyes. its unreal to me until he's here.
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