Friday, April 23, 2004

pretty sure i'm allergic to sleep

(pst--fantasy friday at the bottom. if not properly aroused, check buzznet)

which is odd, because i used to be addicted.
i am awake until 3am way too often lately.
but i have found that I love not getting quite enough sleep.
it's bizarre.
i feel so much more alive and alert when i'm fucking tired.
so, whatever.

So i just went to my 3 day old GMail account, ready to send my first message.
sat there for a minute staring at the empty "compose" page, and logged out.
there were two main problems....
1. I don't freaking know anyone's email address
B. I almost never initiate a brand new email!!!!!!
(please read that like Rod Roddy on "the Price is Wrong, Bitch")
I have a hard enough time keeping up with replying to the large number of emails i receive as it is
--why start some more shit i can't finish, right?
i mean, all those hard working spammers deserve more than just a perfunctory, "no thank you"--
i feel it's important to answer them individually.
Also, some old co-workers who see fit to still send me page after eye-bleeding page of "jokes".
and those can't go un-scorned.
okay, i'm kidding, i delete all of the above without looking, just like you do.
i was trying to paint a picture of myself as some quirky little social outcast.
it's not very believable, though is it?
anyway, it's boredhousewife at and feel free to use it.
lord knows i'm not.

however, my body aches all over from the killer workouts this week, and my nose hurts from all the fucking-with.
so who can really hold me to what i say?

sometimes on a Friday, i just feel like talking smack.
sometimes on a tuesday or a sunday or a full moon or when the windows are open--i feel like writing smut.
which is why schedules and routines make me feel comfortable and safe when i'm in the right mood and like Gulliver in Lilliput when i'm in the wrong mood.
suffocated, bound and gagged.
what a great segue into the fantasy post...

just kidding.

okay, okay.
reaching deep inside my bag o'tricks....
blocking out the sounds of my life,
walking down that concrete spiral staircase into one of the upper levels of my imagination.
just skimming off the top here, in other words, and no, not like the cream from milk.
unless you're on a low fat diet, in which case the cream is considered to be the lesser part of the milk...
god damn it, i'm just trying to say i don't consider these little sketches to be the highest quality of writing i could produce okay?
fuck, man.
that was sheer torture.
and back to the happy place....
oh yeah, it is also important to note:
i feel i've been getting too graphic (hold the protests, please, i know most of you enjoy it)
but i get to do whatever the hell i want to, so deal with it.

standing in the rain, i fumble for my car keys.
peering in through the window, i see them, sitting on the seat.
it is a warm, unexpected summer rain.
so it is not unpleasant, but i am unprepared, and my t-shirt is soon soaked.
as i kick my tire in frustration, and try to decide who to call, a man approaches.
i am annoyed already, at his swagger, the confidence with which he seems to think he could solve my problem.
a cowboy hat keeps his face dry, and i swallow hard when i see it.
oh. it's you---
he smiles, tipping his hat in an exaggerated manner, trying not to smile.
i am suddenly aware of my newly-transparent shirt, and cross my arms, with a blush.
keys? you smile.
I nod, jutting my chin out slightly--defiance.
this is not the first time this man has saved my sorry ass.

dammit this is crap.
besides, i just got an email from "Boner I. Womanliest" and who can think straight with something like THAT in their head????
i totally understand why there are whole blogs devoted to these spam names.
beautiful stuff.

okay, once again, i put in some tunes.
what i do is pick a playlist, put it on random and take a deep breath.
then i start typing.
just so you know.


swirling skirts, bare feet
tinkling anklets, hemp necklaces

nope. not feeling it
love this song though.
(have you noticed i'm making you work for it today? sorry...)

(Tuesday's Gone, Skynard)
(yes this is my stoner playlist--got a problem with that??)

fuck. fuck. fuck.
it's not working.
i'm not feeling it today.

got it!

(all along the watchtower, hendrix)

driving along a dark street, a low, old buick, shiny
fake furs, dyed bright colors

nope, lost it.
who else is starting to feel like this is a prom night with an indecisive virgin????
are you going to put out or not, bitch???

okay, you've driven me to cheating.
something i wrote in a different setting, at a different time.

fantasy friday #whatever

I'm sorry I wasn't sitting in the lobby, in nothing but a trenchcoat.
a pair of sunglasses...watching the door, pretending to read a newspaper.
at the sight of you i would have stood, heart pounding
we would have both stopped for a moment, not quite knowing--yet knowing so firmly.
you would be caught for a moment between surprise and the complete lack of it.
i would take a step forward, the glasses slid into a pocket, bare knee showing through the slit as i took long steps to reach you, in my knee high black boots
You would embrace me then, with the strength of an army, able to crush me, but holding back.
Your smell, god, my face in your neck, i can smell you...
and i taste the skin, so softly, hesitantly.
and at this touch you shiver, knowing i've nearly broken your dam of self control, and you steer me to the elevator.
there are others in it, so we stand awkwardly, side by side, not touching--barely breathing.
on your floor we nearly trip over each other getting down the hall....
your room key, fumbling...i'm shaking, just a little, my heart beating too too fast.
once inside, there is chaos--both of us so frenzied at this point, that we hardly know where to start....

****use your own imagination to fill in the rest, mine's on vacation, apparently....

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