novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the first in a long time dear lori far away. i just wanted to talk to you, like old times, like when i felt like you were floating around me. sometimes i miss all of my pen pals, not the weird ones but the truth tellers and the real girls. the people who shaved bits of their thoughts into envelopes and mailed them. but i always forget the mail part now, and i'm out of letter practice, and i feel awkward talking about myself so much. it would be better if i didn't have to use "i" all the time. i just wanted to talk to you because i miss you. america is rallying behind its celebrities tonight, with gritty bruce springsteen backed by a choir urging viewers to call in with pledges that might be taken by calista flockheart. i've never liked telethons so i'm in the computer lab, hiding, checking the length of my hair to see if it'll fit into a pony tail yet, thinking about when i should do my laundry. everything is surreal. i don't know why but i haven't slept in a couple of days. how is canada? how are you? i'm worried you're hiding, or that you're bored with me now. i haven't heard from you and i'm an asshole because i keep forgetting to mail things. on sunday i'm going to see "third antennae," a film about drag kings that freddie and hellery made. i think i leave the house like once a week. is this good or bad? in dreams i think i've gone somewhere. in dreams i'm told that the oakland raiders were relocated to san jose, that my mother's back is permanently damaged, that more planes have run into more highrises and i've missed more class. but the real world. i'm in the real world wishing i could smoke in the computer lab wishing i could fit into the kickass courdoroy jacket i found at a thrift store today wishing i didn't feel so flimsy. my hair is growing because i've resolved not to cut it until i fall in love; an underhanded attempt to fool myself that a) i'm waiting for something and b) i've got an excuse to grow out my hair that i can't escape from and suddenly hack at my head with scissors whenever. it's all about monitoring. all about waltzing around in public with no shirtsleeves and watering plants, illegally parking in obvious places, buying kickass clothes for friends because i can't fit into the damn things. i don't actually wanna fall in love. but i can't go back on my word now, can i, and hack all my hair off. it's not good enough for me to promise myself that "i'm growing my hair out," i have to give myself an ultimatum. but i don't really care about the love part. the only time i think i want somebody is when i realize i'm in need of outside entertainment. my lips are dry and my hair fits snugly behind my ears. after forever i have three short months until i exit college and enter a badly recessed worklplace. am i happy? my mother is sick and i think i'm manic. thank you captain obvious. if you were here we could have rollerskating tournaments and make strange things out of all the fabric i found at the thrift store today: pillow books (books about comfort that can also be used as pillows, it's a play on the old meaning of pillow book) strange stuffed animals car seat covers ugly clothes strange bedspreads or even a cape for my cat. bubbles. he's awesome, you'd love him. projects are the only things that make life fun. my foot is falling asleep and i miss you. i wonder what you're doing, whether you miss me, whether you're still in school, still playing music, still taking photographs. love elka 9:50 pm - 09.21.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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