|
|
03.12.02 - 9:55 p.m. well, okay, i wish that i had a story behind my web address...i wish that i could tell you some inspired story about a long night in bed, sick with the flu and that novel, or maybe a dream, or even something borne out of a road trip and the cool slip of dusk into midnight. Alas...hehe... I-Claudius holds reign in only two distinct corners in my mind. The first is a poster dr. ullrich had in his office of a head done in red pencil with the words i-claudius written below. This hung crooked the four years i knew him below a posed picture of an eighties rock band he was either in, or if he wasnt in, then he was sleeping with someone that was. The other is the for-sure smell of the local library where i tipped open the novel and started reading before i decided i was interested in nothing that had to do with rome or great emperors at that time in my life. Thus, i claudius was simply vomit of the brain that i spit up in order to rush past the red tape of diaryland.com and start writing. Im sorry. I would love to change it actually but i fear losing the few crazy and dedicated readers that i have somehow tapped into. In the meantime, im hoping i can write until this cd starts to skip which it inevitably will and ill get up to change it and end up looking at the time and getting nervous and taking a shower and going to bed. Ive started taking a beautiful girl to work. She is lovely and tall with perfect skin and great shoes. She makes me want to go back to bed. She is always waiting when i drive to her apartment and she wears perfect clothes and i feel like i might have toothpaste on my shirt or maybe cereal in my hair whenever she looks at me. I know she will go far in this business that we are in. She is better at corporate lingo, she says things like "there's obviously a market for that target group," and while she talks i try to remember whether or not i filled up the ice cube tray. I want to tell her that i hate what im doing and that its not me...i want to pull over and convince her to feel free to take my car that i will walk home in the rain, just so that i dont have to ride that elevator up and up and up and talk about business meetings and agendas. Im getting to the edge with johnathan, the point i get to when i wave my hand goodbye and avoid the phone ringing. he's good and kind and his eyes are lovely, rimmed in gold and matching everything, when he laughs he throws his head back, but after all of that there is a part of me thats packing up to leave before he gets home from work. There is a very serious team of brawny women inside me that are busy nailing a quick wall against his eyes, insulating it with redflags ive recognized a million times before. ITs about sex still, and always. There is something immediate and unforgiving that switches over in him after the sixth beer and it makes me want to leave before he can. I avoid the angle of his head leaning in to me, ducking my chin into my collarbone, eyes on his shoes. He tries again and then again and then a sigh and i stay away to let the moment rub up against the both of us before its gone. There is something old and fierce about his hands around my waist then and it makes me feel far too young, and lost too, and afraid but ashamed too, but not enough to trust him. He told me about a cousin and accidental sex and i stepped back from him, further than i have yet, and i think he felt it before us on the table, like a hole. I just cant. � 
|