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2002-01-12 || 8:22 p.m. || gilman gilman || today: the chills. sweating and shivering and sweating and shivering and. bowls of water because all the glasses are in the sink. and the sink is far away. and. the flu is no fun when there is no one proper to complain to about it. yes, can you please come over? i don't feel good. get under the covers with me. we'll watch pee wee's big adventure, cough cough whimper whimper it's mighty cold in here, mighty. mind if i smoke? oh. last night: goodness. trying very hard to hold conversations, taking pictures of joe and anthony with their oly crowns on. trying to compose myself as the boys drank beer in the car across the street from the gilman. standing in front of the gilman with people we know, standing out from sheer age, from the cleanliness of our clothes, talking about the first time we were at the gilman. the angry mum to our right shaking her keys loudly by the car as her punk rawk son shielded his face from the other kids. feeling very intimidated having to get a new gilman card, flubbing my lines and punk rawk cred. the numbers and dancing and escaping to the outside for more drinking against chainlink fences. l drinking an oly the fastest i ever have seen, pointing at the rock crusher. is it a quarry? no, it just rocks big rocks into littler ones. back inside for the bananas, anthony using the word 'shred' and sitting on the scabies couch because he didn't know any better, l twirling and jumping and clapping hands. pointing out aaron cometbus. pointing out the basketball hoop. joe giddy and dancing and chatting and showing me his restraint moves. i wanted to go in the pit so badly. standing towards the back, dancing just distractedly, i never watched the band play. just all those kids, all born in the mid-eighties, all very small and very young and i was so jealous. i wanted to go in. but that boy has spikes on his wrists and that one has a lit cigarette in his mouth and that boy is just in it to push people very hard and i think i would be quite a target in there, with my emerging laugh lines and mid-twenty tallness and the fear not unlike that of an unsure substitute teacher. they can smell that sort of thing on you, you know. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |