Friday, October 03, 2003
one night out
i decided to get dressed up tonight. some red skirt that my mom bought me a year ago -- unworn -- tags still on the hip. i have to stand on my bed to see myself in the mirror. i check out every angle. i'm sure this is a sign of narcissism, because i don't recall ever thinking, "damn, you look good" before as i looked into a mirror.
the problem is with socks. i only own argyle or blue striped or knee highs and none of them will work. i need fishnets or red socks. i have neither. i keep fooling myself into a trend, and then realized i never had it to begin with. i decide to not match. dammit, i go to an art-sy school.
i'm wearing a skirt and it's 50 degrees outside. there are goosebumps on my thighs. i'm aware this was a poor decision 5 minutes after i've been outside. but i don't turn around. i'm on the go.
gogogo.
one crowded train drives by me. there's something unappealing about the smell of sweat and bad breath on a too full subway car. i can't handle it. seconds later, another arrives. then red line. central square. our car just sits there and people race in as if it it's about to pull away at any second. there are 5 middle aged alcohol-breathed leering men around me. i shrug. i can't read and i can't write. i have to memorize all the details and write them down on the grooves on my brain.
an asian girl with a manicure pulls up to my pole. her hands make me feel entirely too uncomfortable. i stare at her ring -- real sterling. i stare at mine -- bought for 5 dollars in provincetown. my nail are still covered in the red polish of last month -- just flaking square blobs on every other nail. no polish remover or else they'd be flesh toned.
then it's through the medieval torture chamber. the revolving door that looks like it was built for doom, destruction and legal reasons. "is this the way to the road?" yeah, i nod. he doesn't spin it too fast, so i don't trip on my own laces. i smile.
he looks a lot cuter than i remember. but not different. and i'm not expecting much. he's frazzled and i'm entirely too tired to really care. i'd rather have fingers on my knees than fingers up my cunt.
plus, he has cats and i think i would have ridden a bus to be around real pets again in a place that closely resembles a house. i kinda want to move in and sleep on the couch with jack because it's entirely too cold and alone in my own room. i'd really like the company of more than just a radio.
¶ 8:27 PM
|
i decided to get dressed up tonight. some red skirt that my mom bought me a year ago -- unworn -- tags still on the hip. i have to stand on my bed to see myself in the mirror. i check out every angle. i'm sure this is a sign of narcissism, because i don't recall ever thinking, "damn, you look good" before as i looked into a mirror.
the problem is with socks. i only own argyle or blue striped or knee highs and none of them will work. i need fishnets or red socks. i have neither. i keep fooling myself into a trend, and then realized i never had it to begin with. i decide to not match. dammit, i go to an art-sy school.
i'm wearing a skirt and it's 50 degrees outside. there are goosebumps on my thighs. i'm aware this was a poor decision 5 minutes after i've been outside. but i don't turn around. i'm on the go.
gogogo.
one crowded train drives by me. there's something unappealing about the smell of sweat and bad breath on a too full subway car. i can't handle it. seconds later, another arrives. then red line. central square. our car just sits there and people race in as if it it's about to pull away at any second. there are 5 middle aged alcohol-breathed leering men around me. i shrug. i can't read and i can't write. i have to memorize all the details and write them down on the grooves on my brain.
an asian girl with a manicure pulls up to my pole. her hands make me feel entirely too uncomfortable. i stare at her ring -- real sterling. i stare at mine -- bought for 5 dollars in provincetown. my nail are still covered in the red polish of last month -- just flaking square blobs on every other nail. no polish remover or else they'd be flesh toned.
then it's through the medieval torture chamber. the revolving door that looks like it was built for doom, destruction and legal reasons. "is this the way to the road?" yeah, i nod. he doesn't spin it too fast, so i don't trip on my own laces. i smile.
he looks a lot cuter than i remember. but not different. and i'm not expecting much. he's frazzled and i'm entirely too tired to really care. i'd rather have fingers on my knees than fingers up my cunt.
plus, he has cats and i think i would have ridden a bus to be around real pets again in a place that closely resembles a house. i kinda want to move in and sleep on the couch with jack because it's entirely too cold and alone in my own room. i'd really like the company of more than just a radio.
¶ 8:27 PM
|
