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2002-04-14 || 10:33 a.m. || saturday, well. || that feeling of waking up too early on sunday, it's too early, jenny, you were up late. sun coming through slats of miniblinds and it's hot, the cat's even looking for patches of shade, shadows. going back to sleep above covers with blinds adjusted so as to return to dreaming with hopes of absolute omnipotent dreaming power: let's dream of this boy. let's dream of his bedroom, of his arm brushing yours. kissing. you're not supposed to be dreaming of this boy. but it's dreaming, it's snippets of the unconscious, and you should only feel wretched in your hopes of arranging the characters in scandalous ways, propping them up, lying them down. yesterday i woke up very early. yesterday i drove to oakland to pick up my baby's mail. walking down piedmont with packages and boxes not addressed to me, stopping for water and coffee to take away the early morning headachey feelings. driving up and down the lengths of highways to gather the girls for a wee trip to santa cruz, windy roads and rotten robbie and weezer. we shopped around. i bought a fabulous dress that reminds me of a teacup. we threw around the idea of buying hideous 80s era prom dresses for the show, seeing as there was a very real possibility we would be the only ladies there. we weren't. beachhouse and stucco and signing a waiver to get in: this a demolition party. you are hereby acknowledging beer + sledge hammers = terrible idea. we passed up the hammers and axes for writing dirty things on upstairs bedroom walls: tania likes it with donkeys. jenn's a necrophiliac. it became horribly clear we operate on an elementary level, as do the boys downstairs pounding away at a living room wall. bands played. we got high from spray paint fumes and the boy singing. we thought up a new band: the lives of ruth gordon, where i would be rosemary's baby era ruth and tania would be harold & maude era ruth and becky would be some sort of young and lovely ruth, we have to watch more movies to figure that one out. we took polaroids. we slumped on the deck out back out of danger of demolition crossfire and cracked plaster and laughed too loud for it to be comfortable for the others, those boys giving sidelong scared of girls in general looks. we walked on the beach. i took off my shoes. sean ran in the water, ran back out, and becky and i looked for sand crabs so that i could show her how to sex them. gonads vs. eggs. back at the house the demolition was reaching a feverish pitch. some unknown boys in the house were drooling at the intact walls, yelling 'let's fuck up the toilets!' we high tailed it out to a quieter house, a peaceful one, and slumped on couches and counted the stains on carpet. we drove home. tania and i recounted our love lives, secret things, the divulgence of i love yous to boys quite on accident. i felt thoroughly coated by the ocean and daytime heat. i drove to another party. this one was different. this one was reunion party for a company i worked at. feeling overwhelmed/awkward/unsettled. hugging middle aged office men who would not let go. getting a creepy 'it's been too long' in my ear. labored conversation with the old salesladies, darting eyes at the front door for a glimpse of who might be there. standing on the front porch, hiding from the creepy ones. doing 'hippy crack' in the bedroom, inhaling sweet air from balloons, not really seeing what all the commotion was. and then forgetting how to breath for a few minutes. imaging my lungs constricted, sky blue, made of shattered glass. (you weren't there and i wished you were and shelby gave me a kiss for you, thank you.) getting out early. trying to avoid the goodbyes, realizing i hate the goodbyes for all the awkwardness and false promises. realizing i could quite possibly not see a lot of these people again. not worrying about it that much. driving home. missing my boy. thinking of other things. listening to a recorded voice just before sleep in hope of dreams. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |