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2001-08-20 || 12:46 p.m. || weekend in rewind. (grape soda hath scorned me.) || rewind and rewind. sunday night: talking on the phone to too many far away people, wishing to snap my fingers and find myself in each of their living rooms/kitchens, drinkin beer and frosting a cake. i made things. addressed envelopes. sunday: had a good long talk with meow meow, whom i love more and more severely each day. i took our picture with the polaroid camera and it was very difficult to give it up and enclose it in one of said envelopes. i went to san franny with elka to wander in cold fog and eat at my favorite diner and pay a visit to the wondrous musee mechanique: photo booth pictures and steamy tourist bodies and accents and kids playing bust a move, tinny music from the player piano, laughing sal reminding me of michael (to me: 'that sounds like you.' this is not a compliment.), elka stopping at every fortune teller machine to collect tiny cardboard secrets. driving across the bay bridge, descending in to fog, e and i singing along to her fabulous mixed tape. saturday night: driving to napa for a community theater production of 'one flew over the cuckoo's nest.' standing in a living room at a party feeling rather uncomfortable, filled up with the 'i don't know where to stand, please you don't have to make small talk with me' feeling. teaching melissa tap dance moves in a parking lot and deciding we will take lessons together. saturday: waking up horribly late with a hangover and crampy insides. deciphering cooking shows through all the static on the telly. laying around for way too long, although i sat on the carpet and made things and listened to npr and cheered up cat. friday night: oh. lucinda and jason and risk and vodka and grape soda. singing along with 'revolver' and watching my sweet greenland get pillaged. feeling silly then woozy then hellbent on lying down. getting a little felt up by certain drunken boy in kitchen. silence in lucinda's truck on the way back, wanting to talk and make it not awkward, but having to concentrate on breathing so as not to spill contents of stomach on lovely interior of truck. climbing stairs to apartment in a very robotic manner, unlocking apartment door, closing it behind me, taking off pants, walking toward bathroom, attempting to swallow three tylenol and proceeding to throw up all over beloved red suitcase stationed apparently dangerously close to toilet. feeling sad that grape soda has betrayed me so. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |