[08 Nov 2005|05:32pm] i buy a livestrong bracelet. i buy two, actually. one for me, and one for jeremy. we wear them, and we wear them with pride. he wears his on his right wrist, and mine is on my left. people stop me sometimes and ask what the bracelet means. i feel almost like a salesperson when i talk about lance, and i talk about cancer, and i talk about inspiration. i feel my eyes widening, and i worry sometimes that i look like a rabid fangirl, but so far i have not scared anyone off. instead of flying through dulles, which is what i am used to, i fly to o'hare in chicago. i can look outside and i see a large lake that puts ontario to shame, and i sense by its growing closeness that we are plummeting towards the earth; we will crash in absolute comfort. but we do not crash; we skip and bump and slide to a halt, and we enter probably the ugliest terminal ever. i buy some chocolate and i read a magazine and i notice all the yellow bands around wrists; livestrong waving, livestrong reading, livestrong getting bored and doing handstands in front of the window. livestrong boarding the plane an hour later; i find my seat and i am ready to leave and i remain ready to leave for an hour. it seems that the pilot and the airport are having problems with getting one piece of paper signed; namely, they cannot find the piece of paper to be signed. we grumble and we moan and we are discontent until we begin backing out and taking off; we cheer as we leave. (13812) i do not think i am going to have friends when i show this off. i already have people clamoring to read, but i have written unflattering things about them. if i ever get published, i will probably have to move, because no one likes the things i have to say. post comment

[04 Nov 2005|02:04am] he took me to the house of guitars, when i was cold and begged to be warmed up. when we walked in the building, i immediately fell in love with a creamy pink guitar with flowers and paisley bits. i wanted to cling to it and strum it gently and take it home with me and love it forever, but my wallet and i had a quick chat, and it was decided that it was just not feasible, at this point in my life, to leave with a guitar. he took me past the guitars, weaving through people and drum kits and down a few stairs, to what can only be described as the messiest place in all of irondequoit. everything was in disorder and disarray; posters and t-shirts and plaques lined the walls and the ceiling and any other bit of free space they could find. the place smelled like a musty basement, and there were vinyls alongside tapes and CDs and there was just so much to take in. it felt like some sort of mecca, like some holy spot where people could kneel and pray and find cheap music. and of course, there was armand schaubroeck, ex-convict-turned-saint. the patron saint of cluttered music and business sense. (word count; 8,469.) 2 comments|post comment

[03 Nov 2005|02:10am] i feel like i'm cheating on nanowrimo. i'm writing about my freaking life, crazy and stupid and beautiful as it's been. and it's not creative when you're drawing from memories. 5,075. oi. 1 comment|post comment

[01 Nov 2005|02:23am] we both sleep a lot. until i met him, i never knew someone could sleep as long as i do. his dad believes we're vampires, and sometimes i think i wouldn't mind. i already have the unnaturally sharp canine teeth; i just need to sizzle and crackle under sunlight, and i need to stop being so averse to drinking copious amounts of blood. so being a vampire is out. screw you, guidance counselors. i really can't be whatever i want to be, no matter how much i set my mind to it. (wordcount; 2088.) post comment

[27 Oct 2005|12:17am] starting over from scratch. next post, november 1st. post comment

navigation [ viewing | most recent entries ]