| A Treatise On Social Peculiarities |
[Oct. 29th, 2009|03:00 pm] |
A. I am hilariously bad at talking on the telephone. I have also been known to "misplace" my cell phone for four or five days at a time. Willful disregard of my friends' attempts to contact me will sometimes mean that we are not friends anymore, although this is (usually) not my intent. Phone conversation messes with my equilibrium in a couple of ways.
1. I don't know you that well, and I don't know what to say. I get shrieky and desperate, and both of us are uncomfortable. You probably will not notice, but I am pacing up and down the room for the duration of the call and mumbling around my nerve-induced lockjaw. Totally indignifying.
2. I know you pretty well. I also know that I would like to see your face, take a walk, or make out with you. I'm excellent at productive conversation if we are wandering around in a park and/or smashing our faces together. The intensity of the desire to see you will make talking on the phone awkward unless you have specific information to relay. Again: totally indignifying, and potentially exhausting.
B. I have a tendency to get kicked out of bars. There is a pernicious rumor going around of my being a belligerent drunk (and by "belligerent", I mean "using three point SAT words"), but most evictions take place after a tight-assed employee has zeroed in on the underage malcontent and forcibly removed my whiskey and soda. This wouldn't be an issue among some circles, but as I am currently associating exclusively with the dregs of Greater Hartford society (and attending all the ensuing open mike nights, which have proved incompatible with a legal blood alcohol level) I am spending a lot of time dodging the Man. Varying degrees of success, so far.
C. If, by some alignment of cosmic forces, someone has managed to get me out of my apartment and into a social gathering, there is an extremely good chance that I will get distracted and wander off.
1. Something shiny catches my eye, and I pursue it. "It" can vary from a sexual conquest to a conversation about Paradise Lost/Bolshevik takeover/zombie attack to a seat on the roof or the porch that I have decided is more worthwhile than your party. It's not your fault, but I have no patience for you.
2. I find myself in a place antithetical to what everyone else is doing. A recent example is a party where I was very suddenly the only one not either furiously dry humping or too stoned to move. I bopped around in the woods by myself for what I think was close to an hour and a half.
D. I'm in a pit of melancholy, and I don't want to talk to anyone. This will occasionally evolve into a legitimate excuse not to leave the house (writing, cleaning, semi-consciousness). It can also provoke the opposite reaction, wherein I show up, inflict my caustic wit upon the masses, and proceed to drink myself stupid. Attacks of malaise are decreasing as I age, but I am unarguably still an existential little shit. |
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| Agoraphobic Afternoons |
[Aug. 3rd, 2009|09:38 pm] |
Lately!
It is a little, new blog! I am living in a protracted and unnatural childhood, so don't go nursing any visions of enlightenment.
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| "NO CLIMBING PLEASE" |
[Oct. 11th, 2008|03:16 pm] |
Hello Hampshire! I am very pretty. I have a bicycle and half a bushel of apples. If either of these sound like your idea of an awesome Saturday afternoon, I will be in the tree outside of the Yiddish Book Center.
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| stupid things |
[Aug. 6th, 2008|02:43 pm] |
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Wide floors, eastern windows, tea drawer, groaning shelves, salt crust, clean socks, three cats, shoulder blades, stacked jam, ink stains, garden tunnel, humming wind! The webs where the wall met the ceiling. The cloudy-mouthed piano. A grin. A smattering. A bed that's ours. |
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| 1991-2008 |
[Jun. 26th, 2008|01:37 pm] |
It's over, kid. |
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| nao |
[May. 5th, 2008|08:25 pm] |
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Hey! Hey. Dinner was some peanut butter that I found in the laundry room and fifty-two ounces of Diet Pepsi. Breakfast is gonna be awesome! Do you know what I am doing for breakfast? I am writing seven pages of a paper! I decided I can't eat until I finish a semester of college! I gave my meal card to one of those fuckers on skateboards that is always tripping down the steps of Franklin Patterson! There was vodka in my Diet Pepsi, guys. I am supposed to be doing homework, and instead I am drinking vodka. Don't ask me where I got the vodka. Don't ask me where that peanut butter was before it ended up beside a washing machine, because I don't wanna know. It's Monday! Do you know where I will be at this time next week? In a tree, motherfuckers! I am going home and I am climbing that yellow tree beside my parents' house and I am living up there until probably August! They are awesome, trees. They don't collect dust like fuckin' dorm rooms. Also: ants. Ants, fuckin' crawling in my laundry and exploding out from underneath the rug when I have a mind to do some sweeping. I almost have a mind for sweeping now! I don't know what would happen if I stood up, though! I have gone back over this paragraph six times to correct my spelling errors! I think my gums are swollen, guys. I think I am maybe going to have a stomachache tomorrow. Last night I rode home on the back of a motorcycle and when I got inside I started shouting about capitalism, which only happens when I am delirious or when I am gloating. Motorboats! Reckless consumption! I can't really see the computer screen! |
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| second anne |
[Nov. 23rd, 2007|03:01 pm] |
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I am chewing ice at the formica table in our cabin, and all of the windows are fogged over. We have been eating without stopping since 4:30 yesterday afternoon, and my hands almost will not move. My face is purple and I can't feel my tongue. My brother and I had a secret pie party in the laundry room last night after our parents went to bed, and my mom is making another pie today for reasons that I can't quite fathom. Our dinner last night consisted of ham and challah bread, as we delight in being Bad Jews whenever possible.
Man! I can't think straight at all. I don't know if it is the food or the altitude or something else, but I'm still hungry and I am constantly distracted. I am going back to school in January and I suppose I will have to stick it out this time. I have gotten into the habit of reading halfway through a book and then losing it behind the bed or between the cushions of a couch. It's hot in here. The clocks are wrong.
I don't know if I've ever mentioned it before, but I am wildly intimidated by the fact that more than fifty people have subscribed to this journal. I keep thinking about that teacher - who had won the Whiting Award and told me I was pretty, so I felt like I had to listen to him - who shit regularly on the confessional poets. No one cares about your bathtub! I haven't written anywhere for weeks and I'm getting a headache from trying to be succinct. I read more Camus, and then I read a book about Camus, and then my mother told me that I needed to go outside for a while because my pacing was driving her crazy. Calisthenics acquire a strange edge when there is a family of raccoons watching from beneath the woodshed. |
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| riding dirty! |
[May. 10th, 2007|05:55 pm] |
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O, summer! That fecund season, when librarians crawl from the stale confines of the reference stacks to prop their pale, jellied bodies in the sun! |
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