(sometimes it is okay to be followed)
(sometimes it is okay to be followed)
(old me would have never,EVER let this happen. new me tried to stop it but not caring got in the way)
but yeah, so i have plans. they're ok. they include not working at big w for life, and some other things. although something happened today that is making me reconsider working with animals, even though they are my love. because i might retreat into a cave and cry forever. i haven't stopped feeling queasy for about 5 hours.
my aunt is going to dubai for three years in april, to live with my uncle who is an engineer and doing something engineer..ish over there. it's kind of shocking, we've always lived so close. my cousin asked if i wanted to live with her once my aunt leaves (because my other cousin is going to england for a year and she will be all alone), but i'd probably drive her crazy. we're so different. she wakes up around when i go to bed, even.
i think i am house/puppy-sitting for them over christmas, though. yay! they have a pool. and uh, live on the same street as us. hah.
that's really all i guess. i'm poor and i want a mountain of cds and caesar iv and some other things. i have some dreams but they are silly. i want to hug the world.
today, after my mad rush to hand in an assignment, i saw seven fluffy baby ducklings. they were just waddling, and chirping.
it was so the highlight of my university life.
that tooth fell out like teeth do. he picked it up off the floor,
a bloody pearl, then dropped it in milk, stuck his finger up in her mouth.
she shouted. hit at him. he drove her to the clinic one-handed,
she called him a creep, said get your hand out, you taste foul.
it seemed sort of pointless, asking them to fix it. all the roots seemed gone and
he knew her mouth only as a wasteland. he wondered what
would grow there, in some sort of soil that seemed bent on
destroying him. he drove her home in silence.
wanted to trace her teeth with his tongue but
these days they are quietier, he guesses. there is not really any roughness to it.
he thinks there is not much to it at all.
but sometimes in the middle of the night he pries her sleeping lips open.
lets his finger slide between them, feeling for that space in her, the one that he
helped create, the one he tried to fix,
the one he knows the dimensions of by heart.
he watches numbers on the digital clock, the way her face is illuminated, some dull glow.
sometimes she bites him until he bleeds. sometimes she sucks his finger like an infant,
and he strokes her hair. more often than not she just sleeps,
and he counts the teeth either side like years, like arguments,like the time between i love you and i leave you.
he imagines that the leaving does not exist. she will grow old. she will lose more teeth. he will still be there,
sticking his fingers into her gums, still feeling that
cut like glass.
i feel like i have changed
i fucking hate shit that gets in the way of being there for people i care about
fuck uni, fuck my job, fuck being responsible, fuck it all
that, to me, is not what should be important
and i'm so fucking sick of it
(this rain needs acid.)
tell me we can ignore this. that there are some things you can outrun no matter how slowly you move. that soon this will not matter, nothing will matter, not the moon dripping, not the way i am standing over the sink and seeing your face, my face, the future, our names, all of it down the drain like dirty water, like old milk. not the way i am suddenly looking for a used-by-date somewhere, anywhere, in your eyes, on my body, the numberplate of your car, in the mail, on the news like an announcement the whole world knew except me. tell me it does not matter. not the way your fingers tapped my skin like a drum, not the way i can still hear you muttering in your sleep, not the way you are reciting our shopping list like poetry, whispering if i am the alphabet baby, you're the vowels. it does not matter. not the way your spine becomes a ship's mast, straight and tall, not the way i am climbing it so afraid of heights, telling it to stay, taking your hands and trying to steer, keep you here. but your arms are sails and your heart is a compass that i cannot read. and you are sailing. you are sailing away. the night is thick and i cannot really see through it. tell me this does not matter. you are not really leaving. this is a different kind of storm, one that we can sit through and not feel ruined by, one we will come out of alive, all our pieces kept together. this is a different kind of rain, this is a different kind of thunder, this is a different kind of lightning as you flick the bedroom lights on and off, undecided. do we live this life in the dark? you hiss that we are monsters either way, it does not matter. nothing matters. i am hearing silence now and it speaks to me louder than the thunder, i am hearing the bell on your old bicycle, i am hearing the waves on your deck, i am hearing you in the blender, my darling alphabet soup, my fucking mess, and i am clinging tight to my 5 letters, the way they slide between yours, the way you make no sense without me. but it does not matter. you ride your bicycle backwards. you sail your ship underwater. you do not make sense but it does not matter. even when you did i could not keep up.
last night/this morning = the greatest.
i came home $120 down so you'd fucking want it to be.
haha, rose and i probably clocked the longest game of pool ever. i think it took at least 10 shots a piece before either of us sunk anything. and sare won like $90 on the pokies! daniel's boss is fucking awesome, as well, and let us stay inside so we didn't freeze our asses off waiting the half hour it took to close the waterloo. shows about fake babies are also awesome, and so are vodka sunrises, and baileys+milk. although probably not together? i am proud though, i managed to not vomit in my own hair.
but yesm. i laughed, and danced and didn't give a fuck what i looked like,-- although perhaps disco versions of 'sunshine of your love' and 'like a prayer' aren't my favourite.
i also defended myself against comparisions to hope from 'hope is emo'. hah!
this morning i woke up when my sister poked me in the head, and then took a drive to sandgate for my grandma's birthday lunch. we had italian, and our waiter was really lovely, but i could only make it halfway through my pumpkin pizza. and afterwards at the corner store i got the pissiest $3 serve of icecream ever! but it was nice. we took the obligatory drive past what used to be my great-grandmother's place at redcliffe (it's pink!) and my aunt's first school, which never fails to make me smirk (seriously, humpybong primary school? wtf?). on the way home we drove down racecourse road. i'm so fucking glad i didn't go to the races today, i would have been severely underdressed and my confidence would have probably been trampled, to death. so many beautiful people! there was this girl whose outfit i just fell in love with (white dress, +black shoes, beret and kid gloves). and i saw the cutest boy in a suit and sailor's hat (although, perhaps it was an old fashion bus driver's cap?) and felt my heart melt.
and then i got home and i have an e-mail from the rspca. they want me to contact them about my application for a volunteer position in their desexing clinic. i am so nervous but excited, too. everything is kind of lovely right now.
(i ignore the fact that i am meant to read about a bazillion pages for history and criminology because tonight is house + ncis and i don't actually give a fuck).