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October 08, 2002 // 11:45 p.m. // Less jumbled tomorrow. I swear
I have two stories for today. One, for before noon, the tragedy, the one where I relived something, a problem, that occured almost ten years ago that took years to get over and I thought I had licked. The other, the afternoon. Much more of a story, but not nearly entry worthy. Much of the same. ________________________________________________________________________________ This is what you do when you've been listening to indie rock/emo music the entire way back up to school to see a play and after forgetting your composition book and relying on the 200 page "Fat Lil' Notebook" instead. This is what you do when you have 45 minutes before the show starts and you see your classmates in the only class you have a dislike for and gingerly sit next to them. This is what you do when you combine a Real World episode running through your head with an 80's pop star, the girl sitting next to you, and the girl you had a drama class with who surprises you by acting in the play you're about to watch. You write. Or better yet, you compose. "I was the one who saw you in Tiffany's The chandelier above our head was swimming pool blue You were a doctor
With hair aflame like the aged kiln on Rosemont
Burning almost as brightly
As the bulb that attracted me to you
And our accents kicked against the walls like a metronome.
Despensing charity before my eyes.
Your exhausted skirt reached for the floor,
Your hair sunk in the same ponytail
As it did the first time we met..."