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Dec. 20th, 2005 09:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageMy brother got his permit. Then he put a petrified frog they found stuck in my parents' bedroom window under the handle of my car door. What a sweet gesture. I noticed... and promptly removed it.
I parked at work and walked to the library. Some guy riding a bike flips me a peace sign after passing me. He removes his hands from the handlebars and sways jauntily from side to side. I didn't think he was cool, but he evidently did. At least he didn't shout "whore" at me like the last bicyclist I encountered while walking somewhere. People are cruel.
Dumb bish behind the counter asks me if the book I was checking out was for school. I replied affirmatively. He chuckles and says, "Nobody ever reads that except if they have to do a report on it."
I would have given Virginia Woolf a hug if she weren't charred and sprinkled over England. People are dumb.
I was standing on the sidewalk at the intersection of Main Street and some smaller, less important venue waiting for the lights to change so I could cross the street and get to work. I had just pushed the button for the pedestrian crossing when I sneezed. A man driving by in a white truck shouted "Bless you!" out his open window. I thanked him quietly. It struck me as humorous that he had noticed my sneeze, that he had responded, and even more that I had thanked him. He repeated it four more times as his truck whizzed by and down the side road to oblivion. I could still hear the syncopated pattern of his words in my head. People are absurd.
I hate downtown but love it at the same time. You know: traffic sucks, people suck, construction sucks. On the other hand, I love the buildings. I love the imperfect junctions at the corners of the plate glass in the storefronts, and the metal braces that hold the panels together. I love sliderboard. I love the visible plumbing, especially the pipe outside Whole Foods posing as a modern sculpture. I love how tall the sculpted white steeple is of the church next to where I work, in which my mom used to pee annually. I love the yellowed pages and crackling bindings of aged books that line the cramped, dusty shelves of used bookstores and campy little comicbook shops. I love the bricks that peek up from underneath worn-away asphalt near Hyde Park. I love the stairs and elevators. I love the fountains and their white noise. I love the roofs that never collect snow stretched out beyond me like napkins on laps as I stand before a tenth-floor window taking it all in and wondering when my boss will be back from returning the documents we had all been recording and alphabetizing to the safe deposit box downstairs. (*Exhale.*)
Someday I should take the stairs up to work. Whenever I'm in the elevator I think about how it must be programmed and laugh at the little squeaking sounds coming from the outside. And how awkward the silence is while standing in there with strangers and no suitcases to use as barriers. And how Melody wanted to push the buttons and Paul to steal the placards. Makes me wonder what I'd think about on the stairs. Stairwells always look so much grungier than elevators. It'd be pretty intense, going up nine flights, but I feel somewhat guilty for not having experienced it yet. Yeah, shut up.
I love New England. The harsh greyness of a cold sky. Biting air that fills your lungs and comes out in "the baby dragon effect." Hardworking trains whistling and lumbering down two long streaks of rust. Thin trees that only look dead reaching for the sky. Hills and mountains. Dignified skyscrapers. I wish I were there this Christmas, at least to make amends. I haven't even spoken to my grandmother for months.
There's so much I want to do and so little of it that I'll actually get done. I've just been kind of staring at the world. Whatever, I've put in about 11 hours at work in two days.
I parked at work and walked to the library. Some guy riding a bike flips me a peace sign after passing me. He removes his hands from the handlebars and sways jauntily from side to side. I didn't think he was cool, but he evidently did. At least he didn't shout "whore" at me like the last bicyclist I encountered while walking somewhere. People are cruel.
Dumb bish behind the counter asks me if the book I was checking out was for school. I replied affirmatively. He chuckles and says, "Nobody ever reads that except if they have to do a report on it."
I would have given Virginia Woolf a hug if she weren't charred and sprinkled over England. People are dumb.
I was standing on the sidewalk at the intersection of Main Street and some smaller, less important venue waiting for the lights to change so I could cross the street and get to work. I had just pushed the button for the pedestrian crossing when I sneezed. A man driving by in a white truck shouted "Bless you!" out his open window. I thanked him quietly. It struck me as humorous that he had noticed my sneeze, that he had responded, and even more that I had thanked him. He repeated it four more times as his truck whizzed by and down the side road to oblivion. I could still hear the syncopated pattern of his words in my head. People are absurd.
I hate downtown but love it at the same time. You know: traffic sucks, people suck, construction sucks. On the other hand, I love the buildings. I love the imperfect junctions at the corners of the plate glass in the storefronts, and the metal braces that hold the panels together. I love sliderboard. I love the visible plumbing, especially the pipe outside Whole Foods posing as a modern sculpture. I love how tall the sculpted white steeple is of the church next to where I work, in which my mom used to pee annually. I love the yellowed pages and crackling bindings of aged books that line the cramped, dusty shelves of used bookstores and campy little comicbook shops. I love the bricks that peek up from underneath worn-away asphalt near Hyde Park. I love the stairs and elevators. I love the fountains and their white noise. I love the roofs that never collect snow stretched out beyond me like napkins on laps as I stand before a tenth-floor window taking it all in and wondering when my boss will be back from returning the documents we had all been recording and alphabetizing to the safe deposit box downstairs. (*Exhale.*)
Someday I should take the stairs up to work. Whenever I'm in the elevator I think about how it must be programmed and laugh at the little squeaking sounds coming from the outside. And how awkward the silence is while standing in there with strangers and no suitcases to use as barriers. And how Melody wanted to push the buttons and Paul to steal the placards. Makes me wonder what I'd think about on the stairs. Stairwells always look so much grungier than elevators. It'd be pretty intense, going up nine flights, but I feel somewhat guilty for not having experienced it yet. Yeah, shut up.
I love New England. The harsh greyness of a cold sky. Biting air that fills your lungs and comes out in "the baby dragon effect." Hardworking trains whistling and lumbering down two long streaks of rust. Thin trees that only look dead reaching for the sky. Hills and mountains. Dignified skyscrapers. I wish I were there this Christmas, at least to make amends. I haven't even spoken to my grandmother for months.
There's so much I want to do and so little of it that I'll actually get done. I've just been kind of staring at the world. Whatever, I've put in about 11 hours at work in two days.
