whatever words

 
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Everything I want to say today, I can't say. Except that sometimes life will throw you a curveball-- for good or ill-- that puts things into perspective. And sometimes you need to call up someone you love just to hear her voice on the phone. And sometimes you run out of words, so you use whatever ones you find lying around.

Here is the poem I wrote yesterday.

Sunday

the neighbor's kid
leaning on the doorbell

my cell phone rings
not you, not you

Monday

women
pass me on the street
curvy, old
grubby, hip

I imagine you
kissing them.
I hate them.

Tuesday

your favorite song plays
while I stare into the mirror

again and again
I break the glass

Wednesday

swallowing ipecac
to purge you from me

your hands, bent over
the toilet bowl

today I'll forget
your hands

Thursday

from now on
I won't trust anyone
from Rhode Island

it's such a small state
you're all in collusion

Friday

I stop looking for you
or the opposite
of you

I look for my car
in the parking lot

Saturday

in the diner again

the guy with cornbread
crumbs in his beard
the off-duty cop
the beautiful fat girl
the waiter
who keeps refilling my water

instead of you
I could love almost anybody

 365 days ago (give or take):

"And the sculpting clay had melted in my car, so it was even more disgusting than usual, and practically impossible to sculpt anything. Everything looked like a penis."

I've been dreading this entry... when I came home, Cassie died.
 


what i'm reading:
The Extraordinary Tide and some other stuff.

what i'm writing:
 Nothing today so far.

what i'm watching:
 Nothing so far.

anything:
This might sound really weird, but I think I would make a good car salesman. How's that for a new job?

one bird, two bird, green bird, blue bird:
 The birds seem happy and well.

email quote of the day:
 "picture this. american girl in posh japanese hotel's posh japanese internet work station. american girl is already calling attention to herself with her bionic, high-speed typing. suddenly, american girl interrupts work-space-like silence of room with loud guffaw. when varied foreigners look up in alarm, she realizes she doesn't know how to say 'the weird snow thing is fucking a sim.'"

~This email from wobbly cracked me up so much, I had to share.

mood ring:
 storm cloud

shakespeare says:
 Lend me a looking-glass; if that her breath will mist or stain the stone, why, then she lives.

escapades update
 miles: none today
average speed: none
this year's mileage: 287.7
notes: I slept until it was time to go to work.

you should also know about
 mo at the movies
molibs
reading list
the adventure list page
the sims

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