Yummy new read: Sterillized Velcro to Save the Children.
by krisis
Archives for August 2002
Trying to decided if my sprained ankle would support a leap of the river-like puddle or if i should give up and ford it, it occurred to me that i couldn’t remember the last time i had felt rain on my toes. It’s not the sort of thing that happens too often to me, as i’m not often found frolicking in dewy fields or dancing in the rain. My toes were definitely being rained on, though, enough to make up for my length of neglect.
I leapt, as though it really made a difference. Three blocks later and i was sopping wet from head to toe, above and below my silver vinyl jacket. No one in the apartment was awake to see my soggy return, and in minutes i was day and freshly clothed – the dancing pitter patter above me on the roof the only reminder of my intrepid journey. That and the pile of soaked through clothing outside my door, and the sleepy smile on my face.
I did not prepare a speech.
Today we overslept for work. Every time one of us stirred enough to wake the other she would ask “It’s not too late to go in yet, is it?” Not waiting for an answer, she would hit snooze again.
I couldn’t tell you the last Monday that i actually made it in to work. Hours later we drove to the mall, ostensibly to shop for gifts but really just to buy a quart of Ben & Jerry’s. It almost melted on the way home, balanced on my knee in front of the air conditioning vent. As she was putting it in the freezer i think she was talking to me, but i wandered upstairs and into bed. When she found me i looked right at her, and then closed my eyes and said, “Just for a minute, i’m so tired.”
Now it’s almost midnight, and i’m trying to think of what to say.
I originally intended this page to be a scratch-pad, with no edits and no regrets. Quickly it turned into an almost constant running commentary, with no room for reflection. Later it became a catchall… recording all of my feelings for when i might need to remember them again. This year it has been a diary, the place where i run to when i can’t tell anyone else what i am thinking.
I’m not sure what it is now, but somehow it helped to get me to where i am. It has helped me to get happy.
This seems like such a lackluster way to mark the second birthday of this page, but somehow it’s totally apropos; I don’t think a speech is really necessary. Thank you for reading, and happy birthday to this.
https://www.crushingkrisis.com/2002/08/happy-birthday-to-this-2/
Sometimes that early-morning dew that leaves my room smooth and cool to the touch is really just grease, with the grit and asphalt of the city as its pan, and five hours later we are roasting and still sticking to everything.
The woodchuck on the label of my cider looks quite silly holding a raspberry up to his nose, and i opted for a cup and straw instead, which – i think – makes this day inconceivably more lazy than it was beforehand.
I don’t think i’m ever going to be able to live somewhere where i can’t sit in front of my computer in my underwear at odd hours of the night staring at the internet and trying to think of something to say.