dont say slow.

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after work yesterday and everything was grey and cold. danielle came over and she was wearing the pretty wedges from the wedding and her hair was in pigtails and she was wearing this light brown sweater, feather earrings. everything about her light. i had my hair knotted up dressed in black tights and tight tee with a grey vintage sweater and clunky knee boots and my vintage sergeant pepper red coat. i love this coat and its orange silk lining. and i like big things over tight things. i like looking like i carry a gun on some days. though every day i dress to an idea, a feeling. last nights idea was destroy it all. wake up tomorrow. do it again. dressing is almost as important as the time. clothing sets the mood.

danielle and i drank a bottle of vodka in three hours.

and this was a considerable bottle of vodka.

we made vegan lentil soup, that we finally ate after half the bottle was gone. we listened to music, made plans, went through my closet and gossiped. like we always do. danielle left around eleven, i think, when there was already ice on the windshield and the lock on my car was frozen locked and i couldnt get anywhere else. no one likes big plans on wednesdays but sometimes i just get in the head space where i want everything to be loud and full i want the rooms crowded and the bodies warm. the girls in short skirts and the boys with all the best moves. at this point i passed out and woke up to an enormous vomiting stint while my kitten was purring at my knees. which is a strange thing. it was like when my mom used to hold my hair back when i would come home at 6a after partying all night, trying to shake myself of all the things i hated. trying to give up the ghosts so i could just keep going.

i am so rational about the way i go about things. i could be doing the worst things ever and my friends will try to talk me out of it, but in the end, i talk them into it. then i get into some heavy situations that i have to fight my way out of, i have to kick out the walls and crawl from the hole and get back home and tell all the stories about it. last night danielle and i were talking about what rotten kids we were in high school. all the drugs i did how i used to tear down the walls. how i was still a virgin when i was at my worst, which is sort of how i feel now, extremely in my own mind. pulling everything apart just to put it back together. i am obsessed with the destruction : reconstruction. the romantic ambivalence of being in the world.

and it never stops. last night on the telephone i was asked if i was scared of anything. no. never. we die. we get old. we die. i guess im most scared of not being able to keep moving. to loose my limbs, to be laid up until the day i die. not being able to do or focus. being trapped. that is the only thing that scares me. worst of all.

this afternoon i had this strange dream like an omen. i was in a kitchen and this girl i like, this girl i always have looked up to, was going through all of the cupboards, slamming all of the doors. she turned to me and said, “i just dont know what to do, now that i cant think about myself, i cant worry about my body. being thin—i really liked that. now i dont know what to think about.” then this boy that i used to know, this boy who would tell me his secrets, who ended up running to the other side of the world and got himself married to a rotten girl, he walked in the kitchen and hugged me and said, “youre the girl thats impossible to hold on to.”

i woke up with my little kitten licking my nose. i read two magazines and worked on a new dress design. i helped my mother hang plastic over plants and around the hot tub to keep the wind away. i dreamed about boys and sent out letters. my father has been laid up in bed for three weeks, sick to his stomach, but refuses to go to the doctor. my grandmother has been in the hospital. she is dying and she just got home. she has been dying my whole life. fears are easy to find reasons for.