2001-09-19 || 3:56 p.m.

|| kitchen soup heating methods. ||

last night i am standing in the kitchen heating up soup and washing dishes and talking to meow meow and listening to bright eyes. that bright eyes. (he wrote me yesterday sending a draft of his column which will show up in the paper next week, reviewing the bright eyes ep by way of our break up. strange. i am mentioned by name. and it was a nice thing he wrote, but weird. and now all the songs are clamoring around in my head.) and the broken demonically possessed cd player is trying its hardest to play me these songs, two and three in particular, and it's skip jump next track back track jump skip stick on that one note silence. and it was sad. but in a sing along way. in the sigh a lot look out windows way. in the i-wanna-listen-to-these-two-songs-over-and-over-until-i-wake-up-with-the-lyrics-tattooed-on-my-insides way. because the words have never been so appropriate. [the shift: thanking him for calling me when he calls. apologizing when i call him. keeping my fingers from the keyboard in moments of weakness so as not to email stupid sentences. engaging all methods of cuteness when within a 5 mile radius. acting tough. cataloguing all of the promising things he has said (i will sing back up on your record. you will come over to watch dvds on my computer. i will go out with you to coffee houses to write and write and i promise i won't bug you.) but not setting my heart on any of them. not being so much sad anymore. just haunted.]

and it felt good being all sad and crestfallen, singing along while stirring soup and dropping spoons on the linoleum floor. it did. for reals.

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