wishes

(preface: written last night, 6AMish. right now, i am barely functional.)

what can i say? she snores like a steamboat. still, all things considered, not a bad way to start armageddeon. the sky is still above us, and i see nothing on fire. she seems content to sink beneath the waves, tanned and smiling, and i can't fault her for that. i'd be a hypocrite if i did; i expect the same for myself, except the tan will be from fire and the waves will be of earth. nonetheless, i too will sink. so will you.

i stood, leaning against the wall, drawing stories and conclusions. he's gay. she's not into him. he wants to bang, and doesn't care who - there are plenty of good candidates (as long as he keeps his eyes off my little unsexed prize - which he did). she's not into anyone here. she, though, is. he's bored of beer pong. she's a fag hag. whatever. i've seen these stories before, in similar settings. they have nothing to offer me but youth, which i take willingly.

when she was about to enter high school, i was roaming the west coast, drunk and stoned and lost without willing to admit it. when she was a dancer, freshman year of high school, i was bartending. when she was referring to the early 2000s as 'early millenium', i was shaking my head and being stunned by a phrase i had never heard before. is this the part where i'm supposed to feel too old, too disconnected, too out of place? because it didn't work. i'm still dedicated to this trainwreck. can you stop me? because nobody else seems to be able to, myself included.

i keep telling myself it'll last a year, tops. but what if it doesn't? what if she convinces me to move to california with her (despite my inability to swim; that'll be a real hazard when our neighborhood is just another square mile of arizona bay)? or, dog forbid ('dog' instead of 'god' wasn't just a drunken typo, i guess), what if she gets too attached, decides not to go, decides to stay here? oh christ, what next?

i guess i'll need to learn to love again. but that'll take time, dedication, consistency, not this 'a few times every couple months' bullshit. i need tutoring to get back into this game. drunk or not, i'm not even sure fucking is an option right now.

it's not. she's asleep. not snoring as bad as she was. i still haven't told her i love her. i haven't said other things either, things i swore i'd say next time we were alone. a few times considered saying it in passing; "i love you, darlin', but etcetera," etcetera. it is hard to type etcetera when drunk - observations. i'm still somewhat functional. though not enough so to put my dick in her, even if she were awake. what about tomorrow, though? who knows; we'll see then.

i worry too much. i don't know what i worry about. angels and devils, matching drink for drink as we all smoke too many cigarettes. sometimes i'm the angel, sometimes the devil, usually just the poor hapless human watching the whole thing. (i'm really just killing time here until that bread i ate soaks up enough of the alcohol in my stomach to let me close my eyes without getting the spins.) i'm okay with that, though. it's important to be okay with your lot in life. aldous huxley taught me that, though maybe his intention was the opposite, that none of us should be okay with their destiny. or maybe. maybe. destiny is fickle fuckle.

i wish i were the same as other people, that a night like this weren't spent writing and writing. i'd like to sleep. i work in too few hours, for too many hours, for accolades and recognition i might never receive. i don't care enough about my job. it's a stepping stone, though to what i don't know. i don't want to be working in a kitchen when i'm 40, but i might be anyway. you can't always get what you want... i think i heard that in a song, once. i also heard other things.

she's stirring. i wish she'd stir back onto me. but it'd just start the snoring again. i lack mattress space. i lack dedication. i lack dilligence. i lack patience. i lack, i lack. what about what i have? a gorgeous girl asleep (she's snoring again anyway) right next to me, a dog laying guard in the door i wish could be closed.

she's talking in her sleep. it's adorable. i wish i could be happy, i wish, i wish....

(postlude: the final bit is radiohead, and the cut off end of the lyric is 'i wish that something would happen." as i was typing the last two words, she stirred awake, then inexplicably went into the closet for a few minutes. i'm not being metaphorical; she got up, opened the closet door, and went inside. when i went over to ask if she was okay, she said "yeah, i'm good; get out of my closet, i'll be out in twenty, thirty minutes." i went back and laid down, and about two minutes later she came out and curled back up on my shoulder. i told her i'd ask her to explain in the morning, and when the morning came, i asked her, and she had no idea what i was talking about. my point? something happened. i guess i wished hard enough. i guess i should've been more specific.)