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2001-10-04 || 11:14 a.m. || i heart my sister, reason no. 253. || tuesday night/early early wednesday morning i am lying in bed talking on the phone with my sister. she is groggy and crumply and i imagine her hair sticking out on end in places, her eyes squinty and staring up into the pocket of darkness just below the ceiling. her voice is breaking in just the right places so that i know she has been crying. we are talking about boy problems. the best friend/boyfriend conundrum that has plagued the both of us. the fresh out of college depression. the worry about what to do with the rest of our lives. and it never fails: being far far away but somehow moving along parallel lines. the hand sisters are on post break-up shaky ground. the hand sisters have felt a little lonely and friend-displaced lately. the hand sisters are suffering from a funny syndrome of sitting in quiet studio apartments wringing hands and spending forty-two minutes trying to figure out what to do with themselves. getting themselves out of doors has at times become unnatural and difficult. the hand sisters have secret wild plans of moving away and starting over, preferably with jobs that require sassy uniforms and white polished shoes. she gasps and says she is having an epiphany, right there on the phone, right there in the dark at 1:30 in the morning: the hand sisters will buy a shop on some obnoxiously fashionable street in san francisco. kelly will custom make dresses for wealthy women willing to pay two hundred dollars a pop for lengths of cotton and sewing machine stitching and some kind of clever flowery label. think of all the women running around willing to plop down that kind of money for things like that, she says. and jamie will knit scarves. and i will create boxes to hold these things, and pictures and small precious treasures worthy of fifty dollars. we will play music we want to play. we will lounge about and perfect our aloof boutique girl faces. we will allow meow meow and olive and egon to scowl at passersby looking into our storefront windows. we will wear terribly expensive shoes until our feet hurt, and then we will tiptoe around barefoot regardless of whether there are customers. kelly says we'll only get two customers a day, any way. we agree on this. i am laughing into my pillow. i am keeping the stream of sentences going so that she does not unwind back into sad kelly who is too far away to hug fiercely. i will see her on saturday. she is the kind of sister who always bakes a cake when i come to visit (red velvet ones with cream cheese frosting that make us interminably sick to our stomachs, no less.). oh. that last part makes me cry. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |