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By Misti Date: 2002 Dec 24 Comment on this Work [[2002.12.24.09.02.27377]] |
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the mountains are obscured by snow and this is what I focus on from the break room as people I don't care about chatter while watching the big screen TV. I would love to be there to be lost in the white a casual loss not found for days maybe weeks. I go back to work take calls from people this last night before Christmas Eve people who wonder about guaranteed Christmas delivery people who want cheap panties and reassurance that their choices are sublime that by wearing Victoria's Secret shit they will be cool and above it all like Gisele. I drive home and glance longingly at the dark river, wondering about the impact and the last seconds before obliteration. I am not thinking in romantic terms anymore. I am not wondering about this guy or that guy or what I meant to any of them, ever. I am not thinking of my husband, the man I love to sleep beside the man I love to watch videos with because we usually laugh at the same scenes the man who brings me Subway sandwiches and US Weekly to assauge my deprived and whining inner demon child. I am listening to "Satellite of Love" by Lou Reed "Low" by R.E.M. "You Belong to Me" by Patsy Cline and I don't feel luscious and forlorn anymore. I don't ache. I don't feel overripe. I don't feel desire burning a hole in my pockets drowning a lump in my throat. I am immune to everything but the mountains and the sky and the water and the sensation of the hot air oozing from the vents blowing my chapped hands raw. I still don't know where to find it but it's there awaiting my next mistake. When you know the humiliation of holly berry red blood stains on crisp Guess jeans and unanswered love letters that contain strands of your hair you can never again fully trust or appreciate the maze. You know there is no cheese. It's never about finding, after all, it's all about the scurry. |