a few weekends ago, after a weekend out on the boat, diving for scallops, seven of us riding an hour home crammed in the same truck, and ian starts telling me, whispering really, in the den of all that noise, that he can really relate to hunter s. that he really gets this disassociation. and we're all covered in salt, hats and sunglasses, sitting in each others laps, still swaying from 9 hours on the boat, still crammed into a small space, and he is talking about disassociation. closer and closer to the house and ian was ready to throw himself into the street, he couldn't take the feeling.
last weekend: we spanned the entire weekend on the motorcycle. friday on: wander home from downtown, take it out to very north tampa, lovebugs smashing on our helmets. come back home and sleep a few hours, go back out all day saturday. do some things. go to a party at a house in a neighborhood that used to be really frou-frou, a neighborhood none of my friend's parents were ever rich enough to live in. in the car, everyone was talking about how strange it was to visit their friends house's instead of their parent's friend's houses in this neighborhood, where everything is named after French horse racing terms, which has to be real weird for the French, and all the houses are stucco with barrel tile roofs, which was weird too. but mostly we were just looking for deers in the dark. mostly.
at the house we drank and talked. and there were three little girls who take ballet, watching a barbie movie in the back bedroom. and i couldn't remember if i had ever been to a party where the kids were pretending to sleep and me not having been one of those kids. it got late.
i remember those kinds of parties when i was small, but they were rarely at my parent's house. usually we were up north and it was in december. and my mom would buy me a new outfit at JC Penny's because she had underestimated the cold or because she knew there would be this awful little girl at the party in a Laura Ashley dress just being terrible. it got late.
we sped downtown at 2a from new tampa. ian was wearing his wayfarers, nodding in and out in his polo shirt, looking very 80s.very much like someone that dug ssstudio. i have this terrible habit of relating people to characters in books, in history, in film. it is a terrible habit of relation/disassociation.
there are things i should be doing now. i bought vegetables yesterday from the swamp man down the street, he always walks me out to my car and says things like his momma taught him to be good to ladies, and his momma was so mean, he bets she's even meaner now that she's dead. swamp man is an ex wrestler with a small tea cup dog.
september is almost over. there are things i should be doing. i cannot wait until the weather changes and we go camping.
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