chain, chain, chain...

I am laying on the couch reading about circus sideshows in the 1930s when my phone rings. There's a number instead of a name scrolling across the ID screen, and the area code is the only thing that catches my attention. 314. I've seen these numbers before, or at least, some combination of them. Hmmm.

"Hello?"

This time I recognize his voice.





Adam Rose called me again this afternoon. He tossed out some of the usual gorgeous charm, which I, finally, conceded to wade through, trying to pick out what was real. Actually let myself think there was even a possibility that any of it was real. The whole thing settled better in my stomach this time.

He cracks my mind open further. It is taking me a very long time to learn him, but slowly, slowly, I am figuring little bits out. An awful lot of time must have passed, because....I don't mind.





"I've got a list of numbers and addresses of about 15 people or so, and that's including my mom and my dad and my brother and sister and stuff....people from my past that I want to....still know.......that I want to continue to know, 5,000 miles away." And then he pauses before he adds, "And you're one of them."

"Well," I manage, slowly, honestly. "It's good to hear from you."

"Yeah," he says softly.

i see the crystal vision

Last night I dreamed about the moat around the sandcastle my little sister and I made at the beach.

Then I dreamed about moving into an apartment right next to Julian Roberts, who I thought it would be fun to spy on (something I have no desire whatsoever to do in real life). Then a boy I hadn't known very long called me on the telephone and broke up with me. Apparently he had decided the day before he didn't want to go out with me anymore, but waited to tell me. Hmmm. Sound familiar?

Funny how your subconscious stores information your upper mind absolutely cannot recall no matter how much it wants to, or how hard it tries. Sometimes it slips in details your alert self wasn't even aware it ever knew. In real life I used to worry about how I couldn't remember what Julian Roberts looked like. To the point where, upon leaving his apartment, I'd be unable to conjure up his face before I even reached the bus stop. But when he walked past the window in my dream, there he was perfectly, even down to the shape of his hair and the color in his cheeks. Last week I dreamed of discovering John Wise working at a convenience store Crystal and I bopped into, and it was just like I was sitting next to him in art class again. I haven't seen that kid in over two years. Whenever I dream of H., everything is exact in a way that tends to freak me out upon waking, I'm talking down to stuff like voice inflections and body temperature. Bizarre. When I dream of the Rose I can never quite see his face clearly, but his clothing, his movements and his social nuances, are all living, breathing Adam Rose.

The mind is such a strange and awesome thing.

Signs You Drink Too Much

Your puppy gets the hiccups while lying half-asleep in your lap, and the first thing you think is, "Alcohol poisoning!"

Duloxetine Hcl Isn't a Cure-All

Today I ran into the back bedroom that no one uses and cried, for the first time in absolutely weeks. I cried because I miss Adam. I cried because H. doesn't love me anymore. I cried because (even though this is blatantly untrue) I felt like no one loved me.

When I went to the bathroom to clean up, the mirror reflected a trendy-looking girl with a mascara tear rolling down one cheek. I felt like I didn't recognize her.

unprovocative

The funniest little things make me grin and skip, arrogant as all hell.

I <3 Grandma

When I walked into her apartment there was the usual chorus of hellos. She was sitting on the couch, and when I bent down to give her a hug, she squealed (in a grandma kind of way).

"Cute again!"

My grandma always tells me I look pretty. Which is funny, because most of the time I dress a bit...well, what you might call "unconventionally," and you'd think a grandparent wouldn't appreciate lip rings and leopard print dresses and heels that lace all the way up to your knees. But my grandma does. She's 87, and she's hip.

"You dress just like a Barbie doll!"

I laughed.

She pursed her lips together concedingly. "Except, you've got better curves than a Barbie doll."

I love my grandma.

through my mind like curls of smoke (dark gray)

We went to a museum today and I saw a Renoir sketch called "The Gypsy Girl" and I thought of you.

Surprise!

Whoa. Is Al Pacino hot in Dog Day Afternoon? Yes.

Who would've guessed that this man could ever be attractive? I'm on the verge on naming the dog Sonny 'cause he was so wicked cool.

everything was exactly how it seemed...

I dreamed about you last night.

I supposed I should start by saying I thought about you last night, for the first time in days. Not that I hadn't thought about you at all, I actually do quite frequently, whenever I see your name, or things that remind me of you. But it's a fleeting race through my brain, accompanied by a snort, or a slight tightening of the facial muscles, .....or nothing at all. Nothing I allow myself to really feel.

But as I snuggled into the blankets and rubbed my head against the pillow, on the floor of my old bedroom, you settled like a fog in my brain, and the door in my heart swung open. The door behind which hides wishes, old memories, and a yawning, deep blackness, echoing of you, all of it.

So obviously this is what spawned the dream, though it took me quite a while to place all of this upon waking. In fact, I didn't remember it at all at first, until some minutes passed and it dawned on me, and I spent the rest of the day a bit apart from reality, lost in thought, in melancholia.

I can't even quite explain it, except you loved me. You held my hand again and nothing could ever feel that safe, that right, that sound. I could feel our palms touching, the steady grip of fingers. You kissed me and tucked me inside of your arms and relief flooded my body. You were still with her, but she wasn't there and hardly mattered, we mattered, we knew it, and nobody said anything. And I loved you. Everything was so real and you smiled at me a lot. You have a very beautiful smile.

It was, in Summer Haus vocabulary, "a dream." But...that's just it. It was a fucking dream.



Can I tell you a secret? I could crawl inside my head and live in that dream. It was exactly what I (sometimes) want. Except in reality, it seems highly probable that I will never, ever get that, which, to be honest, confuses me.

When I sleep, you always wear the same thing. The clothes you wore the night I made you sit on the couch and kiss me.

I'll get over it./I could slit my wrists.

chaps + chihuahuas = cheer!

Crazy James pants! (Not featuring Crazy James.)

(Yeah, yeah, the bathroom picture, I know...)

Just like everyone's favorite Big Brother player! Except without the tattoos, the porn log, and the extreme sex appeal.

And, making his first and hopefully not last appearance on my blog, the absurdly over-priced puppy I am honest-to-god seriously considering buying:





For some reason his insatiable adorableness isn't captured quite right in the video. But, I promised the Ponz, so there you have it.

I never thought I would be the type of girl to have either of these things. But....what is that type of girl? When it comes down to it, she's just a person, I guess. Hm....

And anyway, do you have to be a type of person to fall for that face? I don't think you even have to be human for that one. To be honest I'm not even sure that is a dog. It's too darling. I think maybe it was raining in Heaven, and one of the raindrops slipped out and fell through the sky and when it hit Earth it turned into this puppy.

bulletin

I guess congratulations are in order. You've just officially joined the list of Important Men in My Life, because I was sober when I did it.




A phone call would've sufficed. I'm not even being sarcastic.

(I don't care to make this pretty. It's not pretty.)

I hadn't done it until now because I know you wouldn't want me to, and when I held the knife to my thigh I heard your voice cracking in the car, "because I love you," but I can't hardly be bothered with what you want anymore. You obviously didn't care that much. I'm not hard to please, I'm really not. I am hard to hurt this bad, though. Okay?

Shit.

What, can't I just cut once anymore?

The thing is I think I could just go on and on and never stop. But you've already put three sets of scars on my body and I think that's more than enough.