2006-11-29
just like chocolate
I hate the fact that I basically established with my last entry that I want to write well. To hell with the quality of it! I don�t wanna evaluate myself. Writing, at least, has to be my assessment-free zone. Writing badly can be really fun, anyway.
I love looking at you so much, so much that it makes me sick to look at your face. I really feel ill in this marvelous way. Maybe it�s like that one oldies song �You give me fever.� Because it messes with my head, and it hurts, this horrible possibility of you looking like that and then you holding me. It stirs me inside and all I can do is swallow it down. You make me melt like a clutched chocolate bar, becoming all warm, aglow, and mushy. It�s pretty lame, but something is sewing silver stitches in my lungs while I look at you, and it makes it hard for me to breathe.�
I know other stuff I want to write about.
You know how people you spend so much and have bad credit and surmounting debts, how they cut their credit card with scissors? I want to write about an addicted shopper who goes to pay for a shopping spree and humbly hands the cashier half of a cut credit card.
I want to write about parents who were so overprotected and na�ve their entire lives that they don�t buy Christmas presents for their children because they themselves still believe that Santa Claus will come and leave all the gifts.
I want to write about Conan O�Brien�s band. Those guys are really pretty good musicians, and the show can�t completely demonstrate that. What do they do with their lives when they aren�t on the show?
Today I worked in a psychiatrist�s office sorting files and making copies. It�s a temp job I got for a few days while I�m home for winter break. I like it. I like seeing that people have stuff they have to deal with. We all do. Maybe shrinks should be mandatory for everyone, or at least visiting one should get you some sort of federal tax deduction.
My mattress is beckoning me. This is all only the tip of the iceberg.
leesah-likes at 11:50 p.m.