19:04 - November 19, 2002
pretend it's not here
Fuck. Sometimes I regret this journal being online. There's so much I would write in here were I to be sure no one I don't want to read it would be reading it. But my paper journal is sloppy and rarely written in, because a) I can't read my own handwriting, b) I hate handwriting, c) since I hate handwriting, I spend no time doing it and entries are less than half a page long, consisting usually of 'we went to a concert. mmm.' or 'so and so blah blah is so hot and i can't put that on the internet' and d) i'm a verbal exhibionist, so shoot me.

That said, the one I choose (dreamland, but paralleled in real life, of course) does not choose me. Of course. What can I say? I don't know whether to risk posting this. It's down in my paper journal, crudely, not something I'd enjoy reading over later for its aesthetic value, at least. But it wouldn't be the worst thing if people who knew me, who can see me day to day, know I have feelings, would it? Why am I only an exhibitionist to strangers? It's so safe that way. Typewritten words can't kill me. Crossed over into eyes, they can.

But as far as I'm concerned, last night was a dead giveaway as far as one of two things; he's not interested, or he's completely unable to make any sort of, I don't know, move. Move isn't the right word, but what I mean is it'd be like placing kisses on a seventh grader. His face seems to be unaware of everything. It would have felt silly to even try.
Last night was the meteor shower. I went over to wake him up and he was already awake; amazing, for him, he who goes to bed at fucking.. 9, 10. It was 2:00 and his music was going loudly, so I knocked. Traces of the Sesame Street theme, that clown thing that plays when they ride out at the circus. I fell asleep waiting for the shower, on his bed, hearing this song over and over and over until it made its way into my dreams and I thought if I heard it one more time I would die.
It was cold outside, a cold Colorado November, probably close to freezing. I wore my long leather coat; he wore sandals and brought his djembe. He was very quiet and I was very quiet; the difference being that he was wide awake and beating out a rhythm and I was struggling to stay upright against the tree we leaned on. I never realized how light night is close to a city, even though I've lived practically inside of Chicago all my life. I've never consciously tried to watch things in the sky. For those curious, light on the ground makes it impossible to see light in the sky. Venus twinkled overhead and he fancied he saw Jupiter, but there were no stars.
Of course he brings up last year, last year's meteor shower when his girlfriend kissed him for the first time. It sounds beautiful to me. I said 'that's nice' because what else was I going to say? 'I'd like to do the same thing'? 'I'm sorry I can't live up to last year's meteor shower'? Look, I may be blunt when it comes to bitchiness, but when it's a matter of saying something that could potentially put ME in the weak position, I'm weaker than anyone. I kept my mouth shut because I will never initiate anything, never, never.
He smells like the outdoors and knit clothes and guitar music. I put my head on his shoulder because I'm falling asleep, but it keeps being thrown off because his body is shaking from the cold, so eventually I just lean on the tree, which can't shiver because it's a tree, but all it smells like is a tree and it can't play music and get excited about philosophy and run into my room to tell me the sky is fiery red or oh fuck I'm blathering but the point is, there were hardly any meteors that I saw, anyway, and after awhile we walked inside, silent, bones and teeth chattering from the wind, and split at the hallway split and said goodnight and went to bed. Ashley is asleep in our room for once so I can't cry like I want to or else she'll wake up and ruin it.
I cannot stand to be lonely for very much longer.

Outlined 11/19/02, 4:55am.

Don't be angry at me. I can't help it.

previous - next