you're going to blog about this, aren't you?
don't worry she knows to read that with a tone of feigned indignation--why? because i've been lucky enough to befriend girls who would rather gag on toe nails than say, "it's not what you said *sob* it's HOW you said it" especially in reference to anything fucking TYPED in this crazy cold cyber world i've been saying fuck more often. i've been doing fuck more often... it's fun. it says, 'stay away from me' but also says 'i verbalize my emotion in a brutally honest way' --find me a sweater that says that fucking fashionista motherfuckers! okay, i'm done. people are seeping under my skin. we stepped out of the shower and he wrapped me in an almost purple towel. he wrapped his green towel around his waist and whirled me around to face the reflection i'd been avoiding. 'let's see what we look like as a couple stepping out of the shower...' five seconds of half hearted posing lapse. she and i, arms dangling off the balcony ledge at the opera start wondering if it's secretly a gay convention. we were particularly intrigued by a man in a grey sheer shirt, tight enough to emphasize his man boobies. every five minutes when we checked to see where he was, we suddenly found he'd magically moved to a seat closer to us until at one point we could make out his nipples. then just as magically he disappeared and as the opera full of cross dressing men (hence gay convention) came to a close... he appears on stage for a curtain call. we collected our jaws off the floor and left unable to say anything other than 'wha...how...what?!' i've begun a thoroughly enjoyable correspondence with jellofish. it's a nickname, she's a person, sort of. mostly she's a superbeing somwhere else, somewhere i often visit on long summer days at home. she's also someone with a cautious countenance and leagues of unwillingly repressed energy bubbling under the surface. she's any girl with a mind stuck for any period of time in saudi arabia. i like her, a lot. i saw him after the play and before i could figure out how to say hello he was hugging me, hard, and kissing my cheeks like i just got off a plane. he grabbed my left hand to look for the ring that wasn't there yet, he sipped my orange soda, he pulled my hair, he buried my head in his chest and i felt warm. i didn't want to feel warm. there's too much swimming in my head to write down all at once shepherd's pie and breast milk pills and my ex fending off harassers on the street through the speakers of my phone and being stalked by the perfume lady and him holding my hand without looking at me when does my head fall asleep? |