Don't know why clicking sounds in music are like the most comforting thing.
Caress of sheets at 11:40 am.
The night before, sat outside the strip mall in giant leather platform boots with Megan tearing apart friend chicken cause we hadn't eaten all day. I came home and packed water and apple schnapps and set off to see if I could successfully scale the pool fence and go for a swim at night. YES. Could have left my leg below the right knee hanging on the fence but still that after-dip-nighttime sweetness. Like bare feet in wet grass. Or crying. Or vicodin.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Water
I couldn't stand the feeling of being in my own skin today, like every other day. Only today, I had less than usual to take me out.
I drew a bath, and got in at 2 inches full, and pulled the lever up so that the water came out the shower tap, sputtered into my face. Beat down on my eyelids. Every day padded, stupid-numbing-comfy-middle-class-life gives us endless fodder for complaints but doesn't push the edges of discomfort anywhere near enough, If it does, it's a scandal. If we do it to ourselves, eh. Here have some valium.
I got into the tub with all my clothes on. Tried to ignore the extra skin. I got this base psychological eval once that asked me if I felt "averse to the idea of having any fat on your body." I didn't check yes. Although the answer is without a doubt yes. The reason I like being immersed in water is cause I usually feel too frantic to think about it.
I pushed myself under the water, to where it goes up my nose. I don't know how people do that in movies where they immerse themselves in tubs without needing to come up right away. I kicked my legs and trashed and came out and sat on the couch and felt better than I'd felt in ages.
Then I sat down on the couch sopping wet, and read some of the most moving words I've ever read, on solitary confinement and felt disgusted at all the comforts available to me. But since I continue to abuse myself with them, somehow that made me feel a little better. This isn't my ending note.
I don't know how to make it remove this fucking picture.
I drew a bath, and got in at 2 inches full, and pulled the lever up so that the water came out the shower tap, sputtered into my face. Beat down on my eyelids. Every day padded, stupid-numbing-comfy-middle-class-life gives us endless fodder for complaints but doesn't push the edges of discomfort anywhere near enough, If it does, it's a scandal. If we do it to ourselves, eh. Here have some valium.
I got into the tub with all my clothes on. Tried to ignore the extra skin. I got this base psychological eval once that asked me if I felt "averse to the idea of having any fat on your body." I didn't check yes. Although the answer is without a doubt yes. The reason I like being immersed in water is cause I usually feel too frantic to think about it.
I pushed myself under the water, to where it goes up my nose. I don't know how people do that in movies where they immerse themselves in tubs without needing to come up right away. I kicked my legs and trashed and came out and sat on the couch and felt better than I'd felt in ages.
Then I sat down on the couch sopping wet, and read some of the most moving words I've ever read, on solitary confinement and felt disgusted at all the comforts available to me. But since I continue to abuse myself with them, somehow that made me feel a little better. This isn't my ending note.
I don't know how to make it remove this fucking picture.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)