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i hear ya. i’m in the same mood. trying to get us both in better moods, i suppose :) hope you eat soon. I’m sorry to hear that. At least we can be partners in hunger! And thanks, I’m gonna try and see if I can find some cheap food that won’t make me sick. Hope you get to eat soon too.
be happy to have a savings account. i eat once every three days right now. it sucks. you’ll get through. True, it could always be worse. I’m just in a shit mood from not eating anything substantial all day. I’m really not supposed to go without eating because it just makes me sicker. Digging into my savings account to buy food.
The Dream
I spent a majority of my night last night half awake standing on an altered reality of a downtown Worcester street. I swear it felt like forever staring down the barrel of two eyes loaded with anger and spite and blame. And the old Victorian houses that were now home to wandering college students came alive and tried to swallow me whole. I would not have minded, not one bit.
UV Blue
I professed my love We had something old It’s oddly comforting And the floor just seemed The only little hitch in the game:
Life Lessons #34
If you’re gonna deal drugs, don’t rip people off. Especially if you’re young and wimpy looking. 
Oh, literary allusions.
Just for the record, if anyone who starts to follow me has that stupid “Adult Content” spam thing, I’m not going to follow you back.
There are too many blogs on my dash with that spam thing, and it’s annoying. Tumblr has never before made an adult content blocker thing, and your age isn’t even attached to your account information.
January Thaw, pt. 1
The weather’s a teasing bitch, I swear to god. It’s been a blur the past few weeks, but we finally got the winter January promised us, at least in small doses. A couple times, we went inside and got really stoned after band practice only to be forced to scurry back to our respective homes in the fucking snow. And shit, Darren’s car absolutely does not get along with the fucking snow. It’s a Chevy Malibu Classic past the point of being classic and into the “old tin can” stage of a car. Hell, it doesn’t even have a color; it’s halfway between jaundice yellow and liver-failure-shit brown. Pardon my language. Anyway, it was like one minute, we were being towed up the fucking hill by a hobo with crooked teeth and a Dodge he was all proud of, and then a minute later it’s 50 degrees and sunny out. The snow melted faster than my walk across campus to my mid-afternoon class. The thaw stayed until that night, when I met up with Jade after dinner. She wanted to take me for a walk, she said. She wouldn’t tell me where, but I knew as soon as we crossed Main Street where she was headed. We walked in silence, while I sucked on the last clove cigarette I’d found from the beginning of the semester. Buying them was a rite of passage, I convinced myself. All the cool kids had cancer sticks in their hands; part of the point in any young adult’s life where we’re all convinced that nothing can kill us. Plus, they had no tobacco. Nothing to get addicted to, I reassured myself. And I went through phases where I forgot I even had them, only smoking them when I walked alone at night and needed to calm my nerves. Not like I really had any reason to be nervous, though. Jade wasn’t usually the passive aggressive type, though she usually didn’t make me wait to hear what she had to say like this. We kept on walking ‘til we came up to Dead Hooker Pond. Some old tale’s been going around school that a few years back, a prostitute was shot by one of the local gangs. They found her body in the bottom of the nameless pond in University Park, and from then on, people referred to it as Dead Hooker Pond. I can’t confirm that story, but I can tell you that everyone I know swears on their respective holy books that it’s 100 percent truth. Either way, there was something peaceful and calm about the little man-made pond, especially when it was covered with a half-inch layer of ice and under the light of the half moon. Jade walked over to the swing set, head held high, reminiscent of our elementary school days when she would march over and take the nearest open swing at the beginning of recess. No one messed with her, and no one took her goddamn swing. An unwritten rule came around by the end of our days there—the open swing always belonged to Jade. And of course, once she sat, she motioned for me to sit next to her. I obliged, and she pulled a small bottle wrapped in a paper bag out from the inner pocket of her jacket. She took a swig and then handed it off to me. One hundred proof liquid consolation. “Drink up, baby. You’re going to need it,” she said. |
