Wednesday, December 2, 2009
I think you shove a sock in the rabbit's mouth. You wear a green skin to pretend you are a frog prince. You eat words for breakfast. Paragraphs are your answer to the 'tartini.' Dogs refuse to bark at you. Cats line your hallways so your feet never get cold. The people who piss you off the most sometimes email you instead of offending you with their petty conversational styles. Small talk is your worst enemy. Small talk doesn't save the day it just reminds you that you can't say what you really want to. No one is pretending to not understand. Everyone else does disappear. You actually do remember every piece of information exchanged. Everything reminds you of this hidden file. You make yourself cry while listening to songs on the radio in your car. You effervesce. You go back and forth in an endless loop of tears and sunrise joy. You say, 'fuck it' and depending on the minute mean it to be give up or go for it. You have night terrors that you don't remember. You pet the silent dogs and give them turkey leftovers and they love you. You watch movies to add to the file. You listen to windows media player playlists dedicated to yourself. You quit perfectly wonderful jobs because it's 'the right thing to do' considering the circumstances. You don't gossip or participate in water cooler gab. You decorate for the holidays by hanging snowflake ornaments on Egyptian cat statues. You went to the prom with your best friend. You are confused and irritated. You decide what to dream about before you go to sleep. Your head rests on a pillow case embroidered by your grandmother and it tells you what to do.