Tuesday, May 4, 2010

No Barry White, Let's NOT Get It On.

She’s talking to me on the telephone which I hate doing, but she insists.
She is crying or eating marshmallows, and her voice sounds like packed down snow. “I just don’t know what to do anymore,” She is saying. She’s talking about her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend... I lose track of his prefix status daily and it’s direct relation to the given situation.
I am sitting in my kitchen, in my underwear. The microwave clock is trying on 1:37 am, it fits. My elbow rests on the table with my head in my hands. I am watching the cat eat tiny, brown and orange X’s and O’s, Only occasionally looking up at me with a look that might say, “You want some?”, I do not.
“We’ve been together so long I forget what it’s like, to be single, you know what I mean?” I do not know what she means.
I lie down on the tile and let the cold sting come on strong then slowly subside. I stare at my cat from a new, much shorter distance, watching cats eat close up is kind of disgusting. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do, I just don’t know how I’ll go on with my life.”
Crying, marshmallow, marshmallow, packed down snow,
Tiny orange X, tiny brown O, purr, grumble, swallow.
“Thank you so much for listening to me, I think I need to call him, to straighten this all out.”
Marshmallows, packed down snow, brown X’s
cold kitchen tiles, 1:49, dial tone

I may have accidentally accepted the task of writing a heartfelt bridesmaid wedding speech... for someone I don't know. I can't do this. How am I supposed to write about our inside jokes and good (possibly embarassing) stories if I don't know the person?
My nights have been spent studying and writing and video-editing and eating at the same time, and being haunted in my dreams by editing shortcuts and Barry White songs.

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