disaffectation; or, knowing an entry sucks and not being able to do anything about it
��������� �����last night was filled with the cautious green hues of 'midori' a melon liqueur which is only 40 proof.pussy liquor.
sandi's favourite mix is 'thanks that was fun' which combines midori, rum, and cranberry-raspberry juice. the juice obliterates the taste of the rum and it slides smooth, like someone doing the luge down your throat, with only a hint of friction. we sat - sprawled - in jason's room. the atmosphere was cleaner than it usually is, after a round of jason's traditional OCD. the fans were both on, but the heat only continued. butterscotch schnapps. that was all. sour & twisted, i drained the finale of the midori, making myself feel good about it, even though the last swallow burned as though hell had taken up residence just inside the entrance to my stomach.
i got drunk last night. said with such indifference and nonchalance. 'i got a haircut yesterday. the sons of saddam were found dead yesterday. i got drunk last night.' a chain of seemingly unrelated coincidences. left the room in a haze of astrology, into the dimly lit corridor with whitewashed walls and an ugly rug. loops of it stuck out, like shoelaces becoming slowly untied.
my car ran out of gas in the earlier hours - more precisely, simply didn't have any gas to start with. the key turned in the ignition and the car simply gave up the ghost with a ringing - clattering - sound of defeat. i stopped by jamie's room - you know, the RA i sort of know. "would you mind giving us a ride to the gas station, so i can pick up a gascan?"
she blinks at me, then comes close, with a sort of light in her brown eyes. she's shorter than i am. pats my stomach, with a rueful, sad smile on her face. "i think you could use the walk, hon." maternal. infuriating, too. then i said :
"it's kinda hot." sandi added:
"we'd be bringing back that can of gas, too. heavy."
jaime retreats back toward her door. "i didn't even have to open my door." and slams it.
(nota bene: this event has been skewed from my perspective. jaime is the type of girl that has so much insecurity in her, so much sadness and loneliness, that she feels she needs to exact authority over whoever she possibly can. she uses the power and whatever semblance of momentary leverage to place herself in a higher position than the others she is with. even faux-maternal attitudes clinch with this theory.)
just. so. later, when drunk, and sprawled on jason's bed listening to ... (buffy, the musical?!) i scrawled with chalk on black construction paper and called kaylen in calgary, canada on my cell phone. i don't remember much of it and i'd only had -- well, that's not important.
i fell asleep on jason's bed. woke up around noon, or noon-thirty, in a same daze, sprawling around for my glasses, which had become dislodged in the sprawling night.
*
walked home from work yesterday in a slight rain (closed my eyes like i like to turn the headlights of the car off on a dark road and read the braille of the raindrops on my face) then watched the shadows of the trees invert themselves on the asphalt. from black on gray to gray on black. fascinating.
a candy-bar reluctance to opening the blinds, today, and wishing i had some sort of drug. the fan sounds like birds fighting - it's travis' fan, and it squeals sometimes. high-paced birds fighting. disappointed with the results of the astrology tests last night. you're no pollyanna, you don't see the world through rose-coloured glasses, and people may say you're dour or depressing - you just prefer to deal with the world as it is, with the facts presented as they are. (flash:image; businessman in a gray suit in a rainstorm with a navy blue umbrella, gray blazer and slacks and a white shirt with a dark blue tie. captoe shoes and a clipped pace, not bothering to avoid puddles. a strong jaw and dispassionate eyes. briefcase or attache.)
adjusting the glasses on the end of my nose, i saw the movie the rules of attraction today. it reminded me of josie, now in brazil. with corey. the kind of harsh intense melodrama that i see coiled around her like pot-smoke. it's funny how my feelings about her have changed. from that crazy intense connection, a love, ("i want to know you." // "no one will ever know anyone else. you will never know me.") and now a dispassion of "hi josie, how are you, how was brazil. oh, good - good.." trail off into endless phonecalls when you're thirty wrapping the cord around your fingers as you stare into your barren backyard. a child flickers in and out of your vision on a swingset you have yet to erect -
in the future, we won't have swingsets. for a minute, that makes me so incredibly sad ...
tones, musicalities. listening to the acoustic transmogrification of jason's singing in the laundry room last night, in the basement, prowling through the open door marked UNIVERSAL WASTE CENTER and finding nothing but old bedframes and a pair of sz. 13 nike hikers laying cross-wise on the floor. a pair of pajama pants and a scarf, as though someone dissolved on the spot, or vanished.
the day is unremarkable. like a mask attached itself to the sky. the clouds are fragmented and yet still somehow manage to cover everything. just like this entry.
i have an urge to run.