by the window. who knew a desk with an outlook to grace street was so essential? hullo, xiu xiu is my new favorite band. richmond is my old favorite place. last night, last night. so struck dumb with everyone's bright looks that when they all come up to say hi for the billionth time i can only wrap my arm around a waist and squeeze. we'll be alright. we'll holler at stuff and lean back into one another. yesterday i meandered through my town slow and steady. and read david berman poems in the treehouse and spied on soophie nun squad when they walked up the hill from the river to their van. my little brother and other sorts were right behind them and everyone was slow and sleepy limbed and i dragged my feet and stopped to look at the curious skyline, so that they'd get away from me and i would not have to make any small talk.
andar= to stroll (in spanish) me-andered? my name is anda. last night when curtis ever stood in front of my way i would put my hand over his heart and block out the ACON in ANACONDA that was spelled on his shirt and i would say, there's my name and he'd say, stop touching me
and stephen and i drink champagne on the church stairs, watching the cops watch the wobbly students. drunk freshmen make me think of baby horses. hey. i used to have a webcrush on benjamin chappel and looked him up yesterday, he's...blogging alot. a real grown-up. not writing sad stuff in some room with slanted ceilings away somewhere in maryland anymore! oh, and maryland was so close. i wish i had been a better stalker, a braver speaker. today: september in the front reminds me of this type of thing.
1. we prepare to leave home
2. we start school from every angle
3. we develop the most painful crushes; and how sad kids just want other, sadder kids
the heartbreaker boys get their hearts broke and thats probably good for them, right? i'm a good friend to my friends. one lays around moaning about heartbreak and i say to them, oh my god. you are me and i am muna hijazi. thats the roles we're playing here. you're moaning about heartbreak and i'm frowning at you, trying to give useless advice and thinking this happens too frequently to be that serious of a concern.
where however i don't do a good job at muna's part. i say, break it up like a homewrecker. o do everything! and send me the remains, wrapped up like a present.
ohh. those of us that are bad.
a short play about what is was like a million years in the past.
nicholas: (says something infuriating)
me: (infuriated) things are not binary!!! stop making everything turn to binary! that is not the way things are!
nicholas: (sarcastically) oh, sorry i'm so binary.
me: well, you are making everything either or. and there is a grey area to consider.
i try to be careful of the lights and darks.
its not real, huh?
is that how we all keep messing up?
but. i gave a mix tape to a boy with a girlfriend and then promptly gave up the chase. i have no energy for that stuff. i'm weary and my leg is bruised all the way down blacky purple and i think i deserve to laze about and be chased myself a little while. i did my year. the door is unlocked. i'll pull you close whenever you say hi.
in the best mood there can be. best friends day was like a swallowful of tonic. i'm downloading musics into stephen's new computer and we are charting a course that changes second by second and involves used cars and bike racks and all the way across the country plus canada.
i trust trust trust you. all of you. i trust trust trust and like like like. you.
its time for a trip to the thrift stores. we need: a boombox that tapes tape to tape.
shifting in my chair pulls my muscles that are pulled.
yours, amanda L. at 2:30:00 PM [+]
its a miracle we even made it this far, richmond
it was best friends day for days and days. oh, for days and days and days. its still on right now, i expect. where is the tidal wave. because we move, oh friends, like giant tidal waves!
exhuasted and bleary eyed and sore allover and flushed cheeks and grinning and whoops and headaches and hangovers stacked up upon one another until its all the same and still unbearably joyous anyways; everyone eye to eye and hip to hip and arms flung around shoulders and cheating death like no one knows. where we rode our bikes out to hadad's and i kept behind evan's boombox and thought, why am i not always out here in the countrfied part of town on this bicycle, friends? and watched the fields turn and roll over. blue skies. we grasp onto each other in the water and scream how fucking excellent it all is.
i broke my shit in half on the bouncing tower. in the water. i uncovered the boy i've sometimes got a crush on, but only because he's not from around here and seems like a scam artist to me, and i like those types, and i swam him out to the tower, saying yay yay yay yay yay. because its the brightest day and i have already danced under the canopy and talked dance tips with the old ladies (you gotta get some shake in that.) and the pouring rain and then i climbed the tower and leapt off and landed in some perfect karenesque splits, seeing stars and screaming loud and rolling on my side in agony with the floating part bobbing me up and down. the boy leaned over and i heard him say anda are you alright and then he collapsed the tower onto me and i wanted to holler ITS OVERbut instead came floating back up by way of the life vest. and i crept to shore and wondered if i was fully broken or only half way. ron gave me a ride home and i chirped on the phone to my mom i'm going to the hospital to have them take a look at me!
limping around. playing in the oregon hill park. the talents at the talent show, which included amy and ben spitting gum into each others mouths, and miles pouring liquid nitrogen into plastic bottles and waiting for them to explode, and you know, bikes and alcohol. i ate pickle and mustard and potato chip sandwiches all fucking afternoon.
amanda gayle sat in my lap and i brushed her hair like a my little pony. everyone is sleepy. she's drunk and telling me heartbreak stories. when i get back to the park at seven everyone is three times as tanned, and jumping around with basketballs and sailing up the ramps and someone runs and does a backflip off one holding a can of beer at lands on his face but stands up and takes a drink. then does it perfectly without the beer. jessie k holds court all day and it radiant. we're all alight. this works.lets play together in the park every sunday. its late. best friends day has lasted for ever. what will we do? how will we sleep? lets go on and on and on. alone?
the police arrive and put a cap on things.
jim s and i wandered around in the dark, stopping at every porch. i sang whole songs when i had nothing left in my mind. bought grapefruit juice and champagne for breakfast mimosas. LETS NOT EVER STOP
yours, amanda L. at 1:22:00 AM [+]
i love lottery tickets.
and i love hoping for things. and i am better better better better better better better. and i wrote a childrens book in my head today walking down cary street with a blue plastic bag full of clothes to chop apart. the story involves a tonic or a creme that makes things fly around and a another balm or salve that makes inanimate objects come to life and then this sort of competitive argument scenario where a brother and sister are rubbing the potions onto everything and animals are flying around and household appliances are coming to life and eventually everything is a crazy animated flying mess. don't you write this book because i am going to write it this afternoon, by the way, you sneaky thievers. with the headphones on: cary street is my favorite. the white trucks leaning around corners, with all our friends' secret names labelled across the backs, girls in pink with precisely matching shoes on their front steps and everyone is sweaty and the sky feels like its about to pop any second.
it does and i get narrowly drenched. i have conversations with deedee over fashions, and scribble down copies of the clothes in the expensive stores, like the sneakiest thief; pay attention to the lyrics of songs, feel weepy over the cold weather and hot coffees of winter, dear winter, i miss you. come back soon. i was wrong when i said all those nasty things about you. please understand. i won't talk any more shit. sincerely, anda lewis;
i buy a crossword lottery ticket and spend the last $150 of my money paying the bills. which i thought were paid but were not paid. its ok, its ok, its ok. and i say, something has got to happen now! i'm all done with money! its over!
yours, amanda L. at 1:31:00 PM [+]
i had dreams where we told each other we had dreams about each other. it was snowing and we were all inside a large unfamiliar house which had room upon room, and then some people were changing from wet snowy clothes into soft cotton pajamas they had found in a drawer far into the house,
and so we pulled open every drawer to look at what else there might be.
outside there was a war going on, and the biggest snow fort wall i've ever help build, and an army of kids battling the kids across the street and a million snowballs in the air from every direction. we could see all this from the windows of the house, and wandered from room to room to room. and we said, i just had a really nice dream with you in it. and we then said, but I'VE just had a really nice dream with YOU in it as well!
i'd wake up and scream, and wave my legs like an insect, and scream a little more for good measure. i'm by myself. sleeping is deadly. last night together several of us, not dreaming, filled our minds wholly with dust and ashes and then all night i was waking up and spitting out great clouds and choking them back again, waking up with shrieks and curses, and i hate the good dreams and the ones about winters
but in the morning i felt delicious, and clear-eyed. i'm safe from all that. who would imagine. dust and ashes and a restful heart and a solidity of purpose. i'll buy coffee and make it in christopher's coffeepot. my dreams hang around and coo from the rafters. i'll walk to somewhere or other and write it down. its raining. i'll carry the umbrella. i'll go visiting. i'll stay in.
reading from the women poets from antiquity to now book until i almost believed in them.
yours, amanda L. at 2:08:00 PM [+]
A. i lived in the treehouse all afternoon. staring at stopped trains and the river, napping and absentmindedly drawing with a sharpie on the wood planks.
B. and i feel sick when i remember i have a body; and cannot eat, and cannot finish meals, and look at the plate with my stomach turning over. its this particular nausea i get when:
1. thinking about nicholas and i cheating on one another.
an example of this feeling was best demonstrated at a chinese restraunt in prague in november 2001, where we started bickering, and started reminding the other of various cheaterly transgressions, and neither of us could finish our meals and we left the styrofoam boxes on the church steps. i did not write about these fights in the travel website we kept, the only hint of it is under november 30 "while i was very sad about the usual things.". neither of us mentioned the fighting.
2. when i think about calling muna.
3. and newly: mornings afters and that stuff. remembering the night befores.
C. russian novels in the bookstore.
D. anyways, here's the text part of the old travel website i just mentioned. i read it, my part's boring, like i can be. nick's is more interesting to me, mostly because its not mine.
* * *
yours, amanda L. at 3:31:00 PM [+]
first we bombed our favorite hill. i get scared on the thin silver bike and hold my foot near the ground. and we rode down the middle of the highway by way of the median in the center of the manchester bridge; i watch evan with one eye because he's a little injured and i am motherly when kids are injured. close my mouth tight with watchful worry. he rides the bike funny, with a kind of limp, and sometimes his knee sticks fast and won't move. but then he's still so brave, and rode down the steep cement incline, and everybody cheered. over the lee bridge we talked about what our favorite no-hands rides were, which streets at which times. i say, my favorite is cary street, you don't have to pedal, at three in the morning, and trying to weave between the marks in the middle of the road, balancing like a balancier.
i stayed up too late. lolee brought me cds in a little case. she unearthed 80 percent of the terrible music we loved in 1994, music that no one else loved whatsoever.
and so i played all of them and drew drawings of fishes jumping into boats and tapped my feet on the floor and glued paper together and cut my hair some more.
at three thirty turning the fan around and arranging the couch and trying to sleep, but heard voices in my head. at first i assured myself it was telepathic messages, but immediately grew convinced that it was ghosts and had to flee the studio so fast, pulling on jeans, blue walking shoes and a jacket covered in zippers, out the door, thinking oh, bother. i can't be afraid of my studio, because of then where will i sleep at night? and you can be so ridiculous sometimes amanda and wish i had someone i could call at times like this.
but i don't.
i decided to walk around until daylight.
and fan district you are so beautiful then! and quiet and secret things. wind chimes and no one else out whatsoever. i opened everything i could find and walked through yards softly and was frightened by tall flowers growing and petted every single cat. the cats will walk up to you when you are keeping awake, avoiding ghosts, by yourself; they walk up and look at you like, hey i know what you are doing. out by yourself like this. i climbed into three unlocked car doors and sat inside them awhile and daydreamed about American Cities, and drank an unopened ginger ale i found. i walked up broad street and stood outside the showcase store and listened to their creepy music.
there is something good about storefronts that leave soundtracks playing for the night. like that television at third and broad with its swervy screen, blaring unmanagably.
i skirted around the four a.m. cars going back and forth, looking at me.
i don't want to get in your car.
at seven eleven allison was outside nervous energy and drinking soda from a two liter.
hey girl. (he high fives me) nice jacket. you just wake up?
hiya allison. no. i....no.
want some soda? get a cup from inside.
yeah. ok. be right back
he smokes cigarettes and drinks cupfuls of coke and talks with the seven eleven worker outside about building a utopia from old lottery tickets, about interior and exterior design, about the red shoe diaries, and several other allison type things. i sit on the ground and sip my soda. i'm overjoyed to find someone i know at this hour.
it cures all the ghosts. allison! who would think.
i wander home and fall asleep instanly.
yours, amanda L. at 2:15:00 PM [+]
my dad and my sister are here. i am drunk via the wine we got at the restraunt. no on else drank it. its perfect. we are at the library. my dad is whispering with a practiced lifetime library whisper and looking for musical scores, which when he finds he uncontrollably hums as he reads.
i have to go.
yours, amanda L. at 5:45:00 PM [+]
1. old photographs of german circus performers from the 40s.
2. ms piggle-wiggle, and ms piggle-wiggle's upside down house. because she used to lay and wonder for hours and hours as a girl what it would be like to walk around on the ceiling. so she built her house mostly that way. and the chandelier is sprouting up from the living room floor, and the children sit around it and pretend it is a campfire.
3. catching mice
4. is she dead or just asleep?
5. "she looked down darkly to the floor"
6. today: i made a pink mix tape for my sister, who arrives today for the afternoon, along with my dad, whose birthday was yesterday.
7. i would like to live my life in a nice healthy combination of ms piggle-wiggle and pippi longstocking. and especially in their houses.
8. buried treasure. marbles. pirates. it all mixes up in my head when i'm confused with everything like i am
for certain in the night
the so sudden anger. real anger. rageful and balled fists. i will break things, i will bloody noses and bust mouths and pummel bellies, i will kick, kick, kick at anything. from out of some thought processes where i'd been, maybe, covering it with coverlets.
then i walked away before i could lose it and start screaming at the porch-sitters, start something idiotic and insane. what could i start? nothing that has any reasons. i walked off fast and turned the corner and cursed colorfully for a few minutes before bursting into tears. the vcu cops don't let you sit in monroe park after dark by yourself. stu walked by and handed me a couple of cigarettes. i sat on the church instead and stared at traffic lights for a long time.
ohh, i play at being my favorite songs.
and considers phoning home---
one man walked by and he was just as angry, and cursing to himself as well. two boys walked by arm in arm, struggling to stay afloat, with the night holding them up. little boats. later as i rode around they had collapsed into a confusing heap near alladins, and i stopped in front of them and stared and tried to decide what to do as one of them opened his eyes blearily and vomited all over the second boy's lap. i put my hand over my mouth. he asked me for a cigarette and i nodded, handing him the two stu had given me that were stuck behind my ears. he said thanks and laid his head on his friend's shoulder, who was still asleep, and smoked hungrily and smiled at some point in the air over my left shoulder.
my bike fell over backwards and that broke the moment in half and i left
in the morning i woke up and was shocked to be here. how does the day just start over like that? all my dreams were made from soothing makeout sessions and chirping birds and springtime. calm yourself, and dream sweet things
clamored out from bed (bed?) and started taping down songs and taking notes. those of us that wake up with stacks of energy. (and i forget: those that take pains to conceal it when waking up laying next to slow starters. to avoid frightening them.)
sleep fixes and smooths it. i am not angry with you anymore, richmond. although i laid on the couch half the morning reading the history of danish dreams and thinking you can be so passionless, so often. and i looked away for a second while you became matthew in the movie trust after he takes the job he hates and moves in with maria. "television is making you boring and mean."
--------------no. i meant me. i am doing these things. and i sit on the porches with the kids that do these things. and i go home and bite my lips and pull the cobwebs from my fingers and crooks of elbows, and thinking, hide me from the evil/ protect me from the vultures and on and on and on.
and i caught a rat, a rat, a rat.
pied piper stuff.
yours, amanda L. at 1:05:00 PM [+]
we went to the ocean and i want to live inside of the ocean.
in the boat, we rowed the boat and amy and i took turns, and there were all these million little fishes, and they started leaping into the air in a panic when we rowed past them, and then they were leaping into the boat, and we would holler and grab for them, and they'd flip flip flip flip around in your hand, and wriggle away, and we'd say c'mon, fish, don't you want to live??
because fish need water to breathe. ohh, and those that drown in the air. saints above. everything is so mysterious these days,
in ev-er-y way
families and their dynamics. i like talking to my friends' parents. its like seeing the recipe for a cake, or the table of contents of a book. and i like other people's houses so, so much. there is some certain measurement i feel for; it is like a newness of Things. kitchens bursting with food. garages. muna's house which was made of chocolate it seemed and room after room; stephen's parents house with its orange juice and french presses and tabletops stacked with hardcovers; houses where there are cars you can take.
its something like an absence of worry. i recognize the suburbs. i recognize the books and the televsion's Part. but the worry over things is gone. and those houses mystify me. we don't worry here. over buying things. we are not endangered. we are not precarious. we are safe.
is that real? is safety real!
my memory wavers and sticks fast at ten years ago. why was the house made of tension? we had six billion tons of Stuff. nothing is New but there is a lot of Old, and it chokes every room. everything is scary, because we are told its all precarious, but lo and i are unscared because to us if we still had cable tv then things must be OK. and we had so much of everything we ever wanted our whole lives and, i have so much of everything i ever wanted my whole life
our house was overfilled with:
moldy and unmoldy books, basketry reeds slithering allover the floor and a metal container of water to soak them in, flour-sifted tabletops and breadloaves or dough rolled into cylinders and rubbed with cinnamon and rasins and waiting on cookie sheets, ancient computers off-limits while they thought about chess moves for days and days and days, piles of assorted ridiculously antique objects inherited from dead relatives (Q: "why are you so stressed? can't we just sell all this crap? its obviously worth something." A: "ohhh, i'd have to find someone to appraise it, and your dad wouldn't want to sell any of it anyways---"), cats in every doorway and atop every warm cablebox, and a large unright piano.
and now, i sort of miss centreville right now. i've cast a spell overmyself writing this. if you were to take me there, i would then take you on the best walk ever, past the houses, behind the grocery store where the skateboarders are, through the schoolyard playground, down along the cement rainwater ditches, through the woods, out into the world, to the airport, and away from the suburbs
and immaturity so miserable i want to fix it. i am embarrassed by it, and its animal quality
a few of us travelled to the ocean. we sat in the sand and threw it at one another. we drank wine from a concealed jug. we buried some of us in the sand and shaped new sandbodies around the old bodies. we swam in the shivering dark. we canoed in a swamp, with everything like a fairytale
The Canoeing Children and the Leaping Fishes
we made a large breakfast. we broke apart cars, we played tapes, we sang songs, and on and on, in a way that ought to make you jealous, reader
on the way home i fell asleep like the others with my head flung back and sand falling from my hair. but sometimes i did not sleep, and stared out the window, and plotted escape maneuvers.
1. pack up the things into boxes.
2. telephone the human resources departments of these cities' public schools.
3. get the car afixed by way of the credit card.
4. erase the computer stuff (i.e. this journal).
5. and disappear without a trace.
6. and start a new life somewhere.
7. secretly, secretly, secretly.
oh you'll know that i am going but you you you won't know where, you.
i have this chief daydream of starting a new life. and becoming the opposite of myself: some quiet girl who never tells stories about her past. i would: read books and keep cats. i would: take photographs and keep a house, small with a yard. i would: wear plain dresses and brush my hair. i would: be painfully shy, not ever talk, meet no one easily, look away when men looked at me.
any boy who wanted to talk would have to fucking climb up the tree gowing in the front yard and scream from the branches and throw balled-up letters at the house and break the guitar from playing it so and when we did make friends with one another, it would be more staring and smiling and less struggling to communicate.
but i would wait ten years for this. my arms would grow thin and i'd have tiny wrinkles around my eyes. i'd get tattoos everywhere in pink and brown. i'd write everything down. when i spoke, i'd choke at the dryness, and moths would fly from my mouth.
because i'd never talk
oh, do you believe me? couldn't i? do this?
well we'll see huh
yours, amanda L. at 12:40:00 PM [+]
epic proportions. measuring everythingout into epic--pro--portions.
last night i got to watch my friends come undone little by little and then faster, and that is neat to watch, and i watch really hard because i am a watcher and memorizer. characters from a storybook. on how we all try so hard to be characters, and archetypes! and by degrees we nearly succeed, in a small way.
my friends, and they are my friends i'm coming to believe, rock back and forth on the bed and waver in the light and holler proclaimations at top volume. alternate between care and affection to dichotomy and polarization, i'm light and you're dark, no i'm light and you are dark---- on and on, its only friday night, its only only.
kids mess me up. everyone going, lets go here and lets go there, and i'm serious. but no ones that serious. and i want to go everywhere. right. now. lets. go.
yours, amanda L. at 1:20:00 PM [+]
garren: he's a snake-catcher now. with his girlfriend. they go to construction sites and places like that and clear all the snakes out.
anda: now thats the sort of job i need. something simple. a skilled, specific task. like catching snakes all day.
garren: (starts laughing) you want to catch snakes???
anda: not snakes necessarily. just something...precise and specific.
garren: (sarcastic) um, like sewing shirts?
anda: man, everyone in this town sewing shirts!
garren: well if there were more snakes in this town, everyone would be catching snakes!!
yours, amanda L. at 12:24:00 PM [+]
you get on the bike and go tracing the entire fan, beginning with parkwood then cary then main then floyd then grove then park then out to scotts addition, back and forth back and forth. if you sing nonsense words tunelessly quietly and then grow louder because who gives a fuck who thinks you are a weirdo, turn to page 37.
i can't finish this now because ben has arrived in the basement and i always get real loony talking to him and full of ideas for art and can't sit still any longer
yours, amanda L. at 1:54:00 PM [+]
sugar makes you sleepy. and there's a lesson here. today i painted the extra bits on my parking signs and then sat moodily on the pillows, smoking and staring off into space and having conversations with lil dave
--i need to move real far away. i need to put some distance, like an ocean, between me and the people that destroy my brain.
--yeah. as opposed to, like, ten blocks. or a sheet.
* * *
--hows your personal life?
--do i hang out at your studio when my personal life is going well??
--where DO you hang out when your personal life is going well?
--in my personal life's bed.
and my favorite flavor of super chill is creme soda. and my favorite 25 cent popsicle is banjo. and i went crazy, and yelled at nothing for awhile as if lil dave were muna and this was the garden living room and i was estrogen-based and lunatic crush core, yell yell yell this that this yelling, and i bought as a consolation prize for my mania bright blue shoes at the asian store, and i painted our fingernails bright blue, and i painted the words TRUE LOVE on dave's knuckles, cause that's what everyone is looking for, and i painted a painting of a little two headed girl on his arm, because thats the tattoo i'm getting plus i was holding the brush and the paint cup and painting on people while you talk about endless impossible idealizations and frustrations is what you do, people. these girls burst out from the elevator and her ringtone was from the nutcracker and loud and she grabbed her pocketbook and grimaced.
outside of college house a bee was menacing us and i tried to pour some super chill on the ground to distract it but it lunged at me and i ran away screaming bloody murder and dave fell over into the street laughing
last night a few of us sat well on the porch and talked process and predilections, and then tried to play monopoly until all the money was scattered about the room and four of us nearly snoring in front of the movie. yea team, i want to say. it rains and rains. everyone on te porch, waving their arms and telling all the reasons for things. i learned that amy is an exdancer and that i like her more than i did yesterday. falling asleep falling asleep falling asleep. if you are my friend you'll arrive newly with a creme soda super chill. and you'll bring around your latest favorite song recorded three times in a row on an otherwise empty cassette. and i will most likely say, for gods sake, lets go lay in some grassy spot and look for airplanes. or no! lets go the airport and watch for airplanes.
its summer and summer is running dry like mad.
get a car. lets go away. i have ideas. you need to say yes.
yours, amanda L. at 6:36:00 PM [+]
after i had my migrane and was going for a nap at the studio i had this dream where ryan, chris, chris, toby and shelly were all at the studio painting and such, everyone was there and so i was not all by myself and lonesome, and curtis and jason and luke and my other friends were sitting around on a couch watching television or a movie, the studio was filled with people, plus dave grohl was also at the studio painting paintings. and i thought that was kind of weird.
later, i mean this morning, sleeping on the same couch, i had a dream where i woke up and wandered downstairs to some basement that sort of looked like the polkadot gallery basement and i found a bunch of tiny drinks with olives in them and then i drank them all but they did not taste like anything
yours, amanda L. at 12:50:00 PM [+]
kroger has two dollar crossword lottery tickets! and you may slide them under my door if you have a crush on me or just want to make me delighted with you!! because that would be really wonderful i think!
i try to sell dresses but i just buy dresses. reader! i had an LSD FLASHBACK today. or perhaps an ANEURYSM. isn't that tremendous? i pulled my new dress on over my head and locked the door and hopped on the bike. its my biggie pink bike with baskets and i am picnicky dollbabied and going to swim at the pool. but once i was out in the sunshine the world was all fucked to shit looking. bright! and moving! and all over its place! i put one hand over one eye and then over the other eye to check the contact lenses, which sometimes move about and slide under my eyelids. but they were okay. then i blinked alot. and i said to myself, this is kinda weird, the world looking all crazy and moving and bright and unusual like this. and then i said it aloud, hey! this is unusual! to test my voice out.
oh i was riding the bike without incident and feeling normal in the body and throat and mind. except the world was bright and insane.
i made a list of what could be wrong: i was having my second ever acid flashback. i was having an aneurysm. i was about to have a seizure. i was about to have a migrane. i was about to faint really badly and kill myself on the pink bike. i was crazy, i was hallucinating. i was not well-fed enough. i was unwatered. it was something related to my period, which was upon me at that moment as well.
and it just kept going. i rode to the pool and tried to hide my insanity from the other poolgoers, which was easy because i was wearing such a pretty, pretty, clean and nice-smelling dress. i took off the dress and jumped in the pool and immediately the sky turned an elephant grey and the trees leaned over sideways. out of the pool.
i took a shower in the pool's showerroom and sang, we used to driiiiive to phoenix in the summer, to see your sister and mom and go swimming in the pool. we'd take the 15 to the 20, over to route 66, the year we dropped out of school. now you work in a candy store, we don't talk so much anymore, but i still wonder sometimes if you still got that same ride with the dent in the driver's side. hm hm hm hmmmm hm hm hmmmmm hmmm you were twenty-one, and i was almost twenty, the year we dropped out of school---- and washed my hairs with a shampoo that comes as a bar and not a bottle. i looked at the the world and it was still bright and weird.
now i'm inside of the library, and working on an incredible headache.
oh, maybe this stuff is a migrane after all. except i often do not have those. ever.
but: i just get things. new things. new illness. like the time with salmonella. like the time with suddenly allergic to amoxilcillin. like the time suddenly allergic to clindomyacin (that restraunt? and losing my mind, turning weird and three-years-oldish and then the rash? all over my self? and then saying, take me to the hospital.) like the time with the mess inside my body and the surgery? like all the million random occurances of pinkeye? how come only i can get pink-eye from any surface ever? and in the summer?
like the time with
maybe a nap is in the cards
call me, call me, cause i hate it when you don't call
yours, amanda L. at 4:59:00 PM [+]
the sorrowful lazies
i spend so much time on couches.
like a stereotype of psychoanalysis.
the collective daydream of being Good
the best part of yesterday was a two part process
1. long spiralling slurring talk of being awful! doomed! reckless! devilish!; oh the worst kind of kids, the kind that mess up professionally
2. but then falling asleep/passing out in a warm warm bubble,
like goodness is somewhat possible in richmond
yours, amanda L. at 2:09:00 PM [+]
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.