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[14 Nov 2009|01:39am] |
So there she stood. The air was still, and slowly the reality around her started progressing back into her consciousness. She dropped her half-smoked cigarette onto the sidewalk and smudged it out with the toe of her boot, “Yeah, yeah, I know, she was definitely out of line. She needs to get a grip.” The group of 20-something guys across the street were staring, and she caught herself staring back. “She’s just high. It’s fine, I’m fine, I think I’m going to head home.” The people she called her closest group of friends, preoccupied with the music coming from the doors only steps away, nodded at her answer, or so she wanted to remember, and Abby stepped off the curb and toward the group.
San Francisco at night in February is always peculiarly warm. The neighborhoods vary in weather due to how high up on a hill they are, or their proximity to the bay, but downtown was stale and warm this night. The chill of the bay breeze bounced back off the buildings following the shore line, filtering nothingness through the blocks of concrete and plexi-glass leading up to the corners of Market and 6th Street. The families lay still in slumber through out these buildings, the offices empty, and the back rooms of restaurants bustling with servers clocking out and winding the locks on their lockers. Still, at 1AM, Abby steadied her stupored walk toward the group of leering boys.
After the confrontation was done she already knew what was going to happen. The bus would take too long to get there, he wouldn’t answer the phone, and the only calming thing about being alone at 2 in the morning with a bruised arm holding her keys as if she could possibly fend off an attacker with them was the lull of the city lights swirling as the bus climbed up the hill to her house. “You’ve got Danny, leave a message” was the soundtrack to the past 6 months of her life. Two years before that she had driven away from his house with her bags packed, assured that what was beyond that bridge would fix it all. Now he wouldn’t even take her calls, even after the voice mail explaining a drug dealer had just threatened her in the middle of the street until she had ran 5 blocks to the bus stop. It’s always something though, right?
The angry grip only of a man who had money on his mind at 1AM didn’t want or need a drunk 19 year old girl from the suburbs telling him who he could or couldn’t sell to. The spin between sobriety and reality weren’t locked in as Abby’s face was wet with tears, “She doesn’t know when to stop, just don’t answer her calls!” The bathroom in the bar 20 feet away could have had an imprint of the back fo her body with how hard Stephanie had thrown her into it. All Abby could see was past her face and the clogged vessels full of white powder from her nostrils, to her brain, back down her throat.
At 2:15 Abby had pinned her long red hair up, and set a glass of water on the floor next to her bed. She pulled a tshirt on, but left her tights on, and pulled the covers up. Her roommate lay snoring feet away from her. The screen on her cell phone only flashed the time, no call backs, no apologies. She set her alarm for 9AM. Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way.
It’s been proven that people will zone out and not pay attention to where they’re driving for entire minutes at a time, but your body will subconsciously make the appropriate decisions of when to turn the steering wheel. Sometimes you will snap out of whatever place your mind has been, and not recognize the street you have driven down dozens, hundreds, thousands of times before.
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[14 Nov 2009|01:38am] |
"You look like art."
"What?"
"You are art."
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| all the roads that we've been racing |
[12 Nov 2009|02:13pm] |
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music |
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wicked farleys |
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still trying to put a stop to this me being a scared-y cat business!
but hey, i’ve since got some good news:
after two crushing flunks, i slowly put myself back together again and found that third time’s the charm for this doofus.
i finally passed my state board exam and it took weeks worth of nerding out with flashcards, practicing and perfecting timed fingerwavvves on gelled up doll heads in my room every day while listening to a secret radio program: dr. laura! (abrasive, personal quandry, midwestern accent infused call in shows get me through the day!)
my test was intense, and i couldn’t have done it without my true friend janie and an uplifting sweet seventies disco song from todd to sing whenever i was in doubt.
“go for it! even if you think you ain’t eve gonna make it!”
now i wear a new badge, as a licensed cosmetologist and can’t wait to be a true new wave hairdo artist in action!
in the meantime i somehow marched out and found a coffee shop job until i eventually snag one at a groovy salon.
on the other hand, noah is trying to lead me in a different direction far off where we can reside and work hard on a farm for a living which i’d trade my plans to fit in a heartbeat if it weren’t for my too few 21 years and a heap of too many youthful things left to do.
although this uncertainty didn’t stop us from traveling to wisconsin to scope it out, go house hunting, mull over farmer’s markets, snoop on salons, peruse the cheese, referee their public radio, seek ‘n try every coffee shop I could spot on my radar, research, sight see, and all!
before we took off i snatched a few shots of current davis, CA loves:
do you know where this drawing is? it's one of my favorite little diy artworks here i look forward to skipping by when i'm buzzed about fetching a cuppa joe in the morning.
many a kdvs djs used to live adjacent to the shoe tree, including yours truly and i still wish it were a landmark at my front door.
( wisconsin bound )
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[10 Nov 2009|08:01pm] |
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For dinner tonight, Marco bought some "fromage de tête." He knew it was meat but thought it was some sort of normal deli-based treat. While it literally translates to "cheese head," fromage de tête is in fact a melange of assorted body parts: calf and pig heads, and perhaps some feet, heart, and tongue. I took great pleasure in telling Marco this and he nearly vomited. This has all confirmed his suspicions that France is horrible. I, on the other hand, am going to continue enjoying my Brie de Meaux. Mmmm.
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| Who's Whose |
[09 Nov 2009|11:41pm] |
"Turn that frown upside down."
"Don't treat me like a child."
"I'm not. I'm just speaking to you in simple terms."
"Simple terms? You don't think that isn't in any way condescending? Do you think that-"
"Shhhhh."
"Seriously-"
"Shhhhhhh."
"I'm not a fucking child."
"No one said you were."
"You are, in so many words."
"No, I'm not. You're doing that yourself."
"What?"
"I didn't say anything about you being a child. I also never cursed at you."
"You're ridiculous."
"Now you're doing the name calling."
"Don't turn this around on me."
"Turning what around where?"
"No. I'm not falling into this like all the rest. I'm not letting you do this to me too."
"I really think you're being irrational... you don't even know what you're talking about."
"I fucking know what I'm talking about, you think you can just-"
"Put your hands down. What are you trying to prove by waving your hands in my face and cursing at me?"
"My hands could only hurt you to a fraction of the extent of damage you've done to me."
"How many times do I have to explain to you that I don't do anything TO you... you're the one in control, you're the-"
"No. No! I never aksed for any of it. Remember the night we drove until we thought the car was going to die? You promised to never hurt me. I didn't ask for that. You did that."
"If you think you're so smart you should know by now that words are only empty vessels."
"There it is again, you thinking I'm stupid."
"Stop."
"How about the night I found you two outside together. That wasn't poetic in any form; that was just a slap in the face."
"You're clearly being over-dramatic. Why don't we go get a bite to eat, or-"
"I'm not hungry. And I'm not dramatic. I'm hurt. I'm hurt that you're such a coward, such a manipulative liar. It's people like you that bring down entire civilizations. Your mind is skewed and warped, you know exactly what you're doing. You have calculated each fucking word that has passed through those dirty lips, each time you set your hands on a shoulder you know you're giving someone else permission to trust you - to look the other way when you're singing the same songs to different faces. Different melody. Different smile. To think, I thought I was the one to know you. You wouldn't need the games when I was beating you. I was three steps ahead, your check mate. I bet I was the best game yet. Why are you just sitting there?"
"Why are you crying?"
"Because it looks like I've gone and broke my own damn heart."
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| scenes from the classroom, part 1 |
[09 Nov 2009|10:23am] |
"i walked on my english homework"
"no quentin, you WORKED ON YOUR ENGLISH HOMEWORK"
"yes i walked on my english homework"
"WORK"
"WEERRRRK"
"GOOD, REPEAT"
"i walked on my english homework"
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| Paris |
[07 Nov 2009|11:49pm] |
We made waffles and I talked to my boyfriend on video chat, very important.
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