Cat Fancy and Funerals

He comes in 10 mintues I don’t know if it’s the excitement, the latte or all that Chinese food but my stomach is doing turns and jumps like ballerinas in the Nutcracker Suite. Things are moving along steadily, I’m drinking infrequently but far too heavily, my grandpa died about two weeks ago and my relationship with my parents is becoming far more like a friendship where they call me to talk about their stressors and such. Its fine I like going to concerts with them in the city. Last week we saw my dad’s favorite rock band, he’s so much cooler then me, and we stood in the very front, him dancing, my mom said “ we’re like a little rock family.” He cried at the funeral in front of everyone, my dad, eventhough it was my mom’s father who passed, he spoke about their trips together and their friendship, it was moving, he looks old, older, it makes me sad. My poor mom is so sad I just read an email that said shes excited to go to counseling. She said she cries easily which in turn makes me get choked up. I was at the local chain bookstore drinking a latte and reading magazines to kill time until the boyfriend arrives, and I passed the cat magazines, my grandmother loved cat magazines and dog shows, she had two cats, one only had one eye and the other she named funny face. I hope I grow up to be just as crazy as all of them.

does he love you?

Its becoming too perfect, my mom was right, she said she fears the worst if he was to never do anything too right or too wrong. And now I feel like I am pushing his actions, making excuses in my mind to make him too perfect but in reality I look to myself I’m craving something, someone, anyone else, a little drama, a little weight. There was a trigger, I mean I was previously trudging along, alone, separated by a country but held together by thin phone lines and then it popped in, popped up. Her awful online profile ran across my screen ending there by flits of a mouse before my mind could stop it. The Holly, the other women of a former lover was in fact living in the very state of my desire, my desired, probably with this former lover. I became lightheaded, asked for consoling through texting my roommate. Most likely I am insane or perhaps I thought that this former lover must be still lusting looking longing after me because I am selfish. It makes me want to wear his necklace, his sweatshirt, it makes me want to call, text, email, it makes me want to move there sooner, now, tomorrow, yesterday. And yet here I wait, an empty neck, in a pink velour sweatshirt of my own, unconnected, uncontacted. And continuing living, driving, crying here on the west coast, lost in long distance perfection and untimely jealousy.

Bo and the first rain

Today was the first rain since about may or so. I had heard it was coming yesterday on the early morning news while I was getting dressed. They said it would come last night but it didn’t. It came today at about 2pm and my roommates exclaimed, “What’s that sound? Is that rain?” And we all went and stood under the skylight and stared upward watching it drip down the sides of the opaque concave window. When the mediocre meteorologist had mentioned to expect rain I wondered where my dollar store umbrella was, probably at my parents house, I’ll need to go there and get some sort of rain gear, boots, jackets with hoods and such. There’s a certain excitement among the channels though as far as the weathermen are concerned, even the reporters find it fantastical to have some kind of truth to the news, something real to report on is novelty. Regardless of all this I have come in contact with a young man who is a waiter where I now hostess. His name is Bo; he has the later shift where his tables are located nearest to my hostess stand. As I am new I am just discovering the personalities of my co-workers and they me I guess. Bo often stops to talk, make small comments about nothing of too much importance but simply to pass the time. He bares a resemblance to Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh’s friend, but with shorter darker hair but has the same happy demeanor. The rain intrigued him to much greatness. He commented that the temperature would make this situation the perfect evening to take a walk in the rain, and later he did go stand outside and upon his return reported it to be “really nice out there”. He was right about the whole taking a walk in the rain, it would be nice, walking along, sharing an umbrella with a friend or lover, laughing slipping down the city sidewalk as it gets washed clean or makes mud of the slick streets. The way the stoplights and crosswalk signals have an aquatic glow about them. Rain is an interesting thing, a season I am looking forward to, a life style of waterproof gear and squeaky shoes.



painting by Joseph La Pierre

push on, depression

It's there you know, right behind a thin veil, waiting, wanting; haunting really, to be tapped into, to be let out in a ghostly mist, set to descend. And one would think, one would think that given the state of my current affiars, I would be drenched within it, this descending depression and yet I find myself content, unnervingly content, for while I feel stretched, between two coasts, and dried up, tanned, like a bovine hide I am still content, happy even, in my circumstances. Revelling in depression has formerly gotten me to no successes, only tear ridden poetry. Now I try to turn it on as this veil, this ghastly shroud has always been my greatest resource for creativity, for writing specifically. I am empty. I am empty? doubtful, doubtless.

Coffee and Cigarettes

He wore navy blue socks and black shoes. As a child I had decided I would be a spy in the CIA so I started to watch everyone around me as practice, this still continues. Anyway we wore navy blue socks and black shoes, as I took off my backpack to sit down at the computer next to him I got a whiff of his scent. He smelled the same as someone I used to know, very well. Someone whom I loved and I loved his scent of coffee and cigarettes. Not being a coffee drinker or smoker myself, (expect for that brief month in January) I would often lie in bed holding his long fingers and smelling his scent, had he known I’m sure he would have thought me insane, as I may very well be. We had some good times me and that coffee drinker, a long torturous run if you will. In the end I don’t think we could have hurt each other more and yet when my olfactory senses were filled with his familiar notes I couldn’t help but smile. Smile at the memories that issued forth upon sitting at the computer next to this other boy with the terrible fashion faux pas. He looked nothing like my former friend, they were of different ethnicities and he wore one of those beanie hats with a bill (a terrible fashion device as well) however he was wearing khaki pants which I found intriguing as my former friend and lover only wore khaki pants. All the days and years I knew him I couldn’t count more then ten times I saw him in some other form of pants whether denim, dress or wool. It was his uniform if you will and he wore it well, I was attracted anyway. Ah but my initial attraction to this character, this cigarette smoker, is a fateful story unto itself.