My head hurts and I can’t stand the typing anymore. I used to love it. Remember? Used to crave it. Now I only see facts and spell-check and minus this and that for bad grammar and unacceptable punctuation. Oh well. Fuck it. Let’s go.
[There was a whole paragraph full of happy recanting and news of the ever changing ever colorful goings on of nomad Stephanie. I’m lying it was stupid and childish and I’m embarrassed to even mention it. Wait… whatever]
I’ve been dreaming more and more lately. The other night I had a dream where me and Jon and Giselle were caravanning to the desert, trying to reach the end of the world. On the way Jon crashed and Giselle was coughing pieces of glass and when I finally saw the red cliffs of the edge of earth I was grateful. I saw the cliffs and a second later we were parked and they were gone and I was young again and part of a new family who told me to forget all the things I had learned from the center. There were caves carved out of the soft stone and torn curtains hung out of them. I thought of Indians and realized everyone was wearing strange clothing. Grey and black and gold chains winking from behind buttons. I sat in the cool hallway of one of the entrances and this girl walks up and tell me I have to change there’s nothing here I would fit in to and that maybe I should think about walking into the desert to die. She hands me a gold chain with a cross before running away from my baffled face. I’m sad now. Suddenly Dawnelle comes out of no where, oh god I’m so happy to see her, and does she know what’s going on? She says she cant talk her mom is back with him and I have to come with her now. We run to a desolate and empty gas station miles out, with lame fluorescent lights glaring down over sand and rocks and two broken trucks. There her mom and her man stand and hold hands. We reach them just as an old lady walks up and starts to hit Dawnelle’s mom. We jump her and the man runs away. After the old lady leaves we stand around Dawnelle’s mom and tell her how beautiful she is. I wake up.
The other day a girl in my art history class asked me if I would help her study for the exams. I told her yes while shouting what the fuck no in my head over and over again. I didn’t want to do it but somehow my mouth formed words that turned into my phone number that turned into me running out the door while still talking and her waving or something and looking quizzical.
And today a guy sat next to me in the com lab and, poor thing, he must have a disease that makes soap and water feel like acid on his skin.
And then the presentation travesty. God. Here’s me in front of the class about to give a presentation and I forget everything. I stutter and my voice shakes and I literally only say “Take notes and read the paragraphs and uh you uh will be fine. I think. Yea.” Before I run to my seat.
Times like this I need a lot of antacid and a lot of cigarettes and time.
I have none of those right now.
I’m not lonely, just needy.
I need something or someone, but I’m too neurotic to advance searches for either.
There nothing fun about watching someone lie.
Sometimes I wonder if birds want to poop on me.
Work is the shittiest bunch of managers I have ever had.
I want a green tea or something. I feel like I’m gonna vomit.
Whoever thought it was a good idea to package dog food in little TV dinner trays and sell it to me for 69 cents cause you know then ill buy it. Fuck you, you’re an asshole.
Last night I got to close the café allllll by my lonesome. Sweet. I walked out smelling like Satan’s asshole but happy since I got some help from gangsta co-workers.
Something about the sky today reminds me that we live on an actual planet. Dust and rocks and people milling and no one looks at the sky anymore, only each other. The clouds were brilliant in their shape and size and color. And finally there was a breeze and a second for me to puff and sit. Just sit and look up. There are so many birds in the Quarry right now, they swarm and turn in mid air. It’s scary and funny. All those birds. I always wish someone in a beamer had just washed their car. I felt tiny on the bench outside of the store. I felt natural and part of the scenery. It amazes me that we always have a changing work of art right above us but to most it’s simply wallpaper with an old pattern. How is it we get so used to things? Get so tired of them? I’m never tired of the things that need marveling. Things like love and grey skies and the perfect line and a never perfect circle. I dunno. Maybe this is too much for such a frustrating night.
I did make ten bucks in tips though.
I had a dream last night. Of course I was in love, of course I was careless and of course I’m homesick for this dream right now. There was one part of the dream where me and a boy were walking on a street. We were dirty and ragged and we had the sad air of nothing that only street kids have I guess. It was getting late and we had to get somewhere, and it had to be fast for some reason. We met a man behind an SUV and he seemed frustrated and upset but he opened the back for us anyway. The back of the car was full of old foam like from mattresses and dirty sheets. We climbed in and lay next to each other as the man locked us in. He said he would be back for us in the morning. He hugged me and kissed me and I looked into his somewhat familiar face and noticed something weird. He had a contraption over his mouth, metal and round, ad it was an acid blue color. I touched in and he told me that he had just dipped it and it hurt. I held him and we fell asleep. Cut to a supermarket, cut to a classroom, cut to a fight over power and the color crimson and I’m waking up with an aching heart and the realization of yes, I do work today. Fuck.
tonight i took alot of pictures in matts backyard. the best way to describe said yard is take a museum full of strange and unrelated items and blow it up, whatever is then dipped in rust and buried halfway in dirt. like a sunken ship except with bottles and can and pipes to nowhere and computer pieces.
my eyes burn but im too busy remembering what it is to blog to care.
your nomad stephanie is safe and calm. the storm is lingering but the wind is slowing. im reading the curious case of benjamin button by f scott fitzgerald. its racist and always romantic. bittersweet and it makes me want to smoke and talk to strangers.
funny, i wrote to someone tonight and said those exact words. lame ass me.
god help me
can i make it through the new week.