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Sep. 17th, 2005 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageMIT thing was t3h suck. So repètitive. I kept yawning and wanting to throw up.
My hand floated on the currents of air outside the truck window the entire way up to Tampa. My arm felt weird upon our arrival. On the way back I talked about dance and clubs and the other meaningless scraps that, quilted together, form my more meaningless existence.
When I discovered that I had awoken at 7 something in the morning, I watched Monty Python. Monty Python and the Holy Grail, to be perfectly precise. Eric lent it to me because I'm deprived. I put on the French subtitles since I'm that much of a nerd. I used my brother's laptop because mine wouldn't turn on. I let the batteries drain, and discovered that my comp had shut off because it had been too warm. How thoughtful of it. Cause and effect. I felt terribly neglectful, like a bad parent. It reminded me of the time up North when I picked up Mark and accidentally bumped his head into the light fixture attached to the fan. After that moment, both of us were so helpless...
At dance, I was thinking, "Sortez vos morts!" My stomach sabotaged me. Forget dance, I could not move. I actually dozed off a few times in ballet. When I did move, it felt like it would have been a good day.
Then I was too sick to go to Terry's funeral. That's pretty depressing.
My mom was being herself, so I decided to flee the house as quickly as possible.
I went to the mall to learn to blend in. I didn't want to run into anyone like I would at Barnes and Noble. Walking in, I felt sure I was going to be raped and/or mugged. But I had no money and was wearing a leotard and tights under my jeans and T shirt. I wouldn't be much of a catch. The girls all wore feminine clothes. But everyone was surrounded by people. This is what teenagers are supposed to do, right? The dark side of the force, running between the cracks of the concrete, gathering in pools at SHS RHS BHS and Mooney. All the dance girls must have been at the funeral. So much the better for me. I didn't need to be bustled into AE to look at miniskirts and handbags. Not that they would allow themselves to be seen with me. I wandered for maybe an hour or so, felt emptier, and left. I wanted badly to go to the playland even though the toys looked uber-lame. I was still ready to flip a spinning kick into anyone that followed me too closely. My stomach felt better and I was guilty. The stage had been turned into a for-profit bungee jumping thing. Malls are so commercial.
My dad must have been high because he was pretty agreeable. He saw the MP case on my bed said something about British humour. He described the story of Life of Brian, which he probably only watched in the first place because his name is Brian and it parodies Jesus. He used to like to watch the movies on the Catholic Church's Index of Forbidden Books. British humour just needs some getting used to, he advised. It's not my doog. He always liked the Pink Panther.
And now I lurk the net.
My hand floated on the currents of air outside the truck window the entire way up to Tampa. My arm felt weird upon our arrival. On the way back I talked about dance and clubs and the other meaningless scraps that, quilted together, form my more meaningless existence.
When I discovered that I had awoken at 7 something in the morning, I watched Monty Python. Monty Python and the Holy Grail, to be perfectly precise. Eric lent it to me because I'm deprived. I put on the French subtitles since I'm that much of a nerd. I used my brother's laptop because mine wouldn't turn on. I let the batteries drain, and discovered that my comp had shut off because it had been too warm. How thoughtful of it. Cause and effect. I felt terribly neglectful, like a bad parent. It reminded me of the time up North when I picked up Mark and accidentally bumped his head into the light fixture attached to the fan. After that moment, both of us were so helpless...
At dance, I was thinking, "Sortez vos morts!" My stomach sabotaged me. Forget dance, I could not move. I actually dozed off a few times in ballet. When I did move, it felt like it would have been a good day.
Then I was too sick to go to Terry's funeral. That's pretty depressing.
My mom was being herself, so I decided to flee the house as quickly as possible.
I went to the mall to learn to blend in. I didn't want to run into anyone like I would at Barnes and Noble. Walking in, I felt sure I was going to be raped and/or mugged. But I had no money and was wearing a leotard and tights under my jeans and T shirt. I wouldn't be much of a catch. The girls all wore feminine clothes. But everyone was surrounded by people. This is what teenagers are supposed to do, right? The dark side of the force, running between the cracks of the concrete, gathering in pools at SHS RHS BHS and Mooney. All the dance girls must have been at the funeral. So much the better for me. I didn't need to be bustled into AE to look at miniskirts and handbags. Not that they would allow themselves to be seen with me. I wandered for maybe an hour or so, felt emptier, and left. I wanted badly to go to the playland even though the toys looked uber-lame. I was still ready to flip a spinning kick into anyone that followed me too closely. My stomach felt better and I was guilty. The stage had been turned into a for-profit bungee jumping thing. Malls are so commercial.
My dad must have been high because he was pretty agreeable. He saw the MP case on my bed said something about British humour. He described the story of Life of Brian, which he probably only watched in the first place because his name is Brian and it parodies Jesus. He used to like to watch the movies on the Catholic Church's Index of Forbidden Books. British humour just needs some getting used to, he advised. It's not my doog. He always liked the Pink Panther.
And now I lurk the net.
