Friday, Aug. 19, 2005 @ 8:11 pm
Flattened in sepia tones. My life is my past, so adventurous, I just picked up and went where I wanted to. Now I come home from work and lie on my bed and look at my ceiling, the wall. Maybe there's music. I don't want to write, to talk, to create anything, for fear that what's inside of me is boring - and right now it is.
I sit in the Village with Adrienne. "Why did you accept a year on a shift without proper weekends?" I shrug. Because I'm supposed to be seeking stability in life now? Because it's good money and uses my university degree? "I know that it doesn't really make you happy. I see you... on a ranch... somewhere... then you'd be happy."
I drive home in my rusted peeling van and walk into this dark messy crowded house and go downstairs into my rat-smelling room. A neon green cricket is lying on its side on my desk. I start pulling tanktops out of drawers and putting them into white grocery bags. Jeans too, and long-sleeved shirts. Books come off my shelves and stack themselved into bags.
My phone is ringing, I know who it is, but I ignore it and pull the covers over my head and sleep. Sleep. So much I sleep.