(When I die, I don't think anyone will say "She spent a lot of time drawing spoons on her knees and barely catching the conversation.", but it wouldn't be innaccurate if they did.)
Reminders to self were as follows:
Left Wrist- OysterSun6. VLADRMSat3 ChurDinSun4 TPmthfkrSun9 BedSat10-12
Right Mid Thigh to Knee- Evans birthday is Saturday. Call Canada. Find your birth certificate. Go to that Art thing. Is your homework done? then do it, dummy.
Knees touching under the table feel like a pack of cigarettes in my pocket. Poisionous, sick making, comforting. Maybe I should get up-Maybe I should go to the bar-I think I should go to the bar. My coat was on the ledge behind the booth and I remember thinking that I knew better.
Smack on the arm. "Thank you for chicken."
"Did it work?"
"there were no flames."
"Those rules are applicable to most meats."
and before I know it I need to fight again. (Dammit all to shitfacebitchfuck if you aren't a great friend, Josh.) The table next to us all dressed in cheap tuxedo's and ill fitting evening gowns looked on as our hands with imaginary pins taped to fingertips and the words "Spoon is Something Missing" scrawled across palms swished and jabbed at ribs. It made me feel better, for certain, but I couldn't help but trace a spoon shape under my collarbone.
There was a boy I used to know several years ago who's chin fit perfectly in the hollow beneath my collarbone. We would fall asleep that way, and when his jaw twitched my bones filled with neon.
"I'm drunk."
"You're not drunk, you're very very tired."
"That is almost always true."
I lifted my coat off the windowsill and saw that the lights had burned a hole through the pocket. Blue sky pink buttoned coat with a burn mark like blue eyes red hair and 3 missing fingers. Tomorrow I will sleep on a mattress that only I've slept on. My bed has been baptised.
Posted by Sonya at February 3, 2003 09:19 AMit's a really, really great bed.
Posted by: freesia at February 3, 2003 12:39 PM