Someone stole my thighs

stay five months hereListening to: Xavier’s mix before I soon relinquish it, Modest Mouse “Building Nothing out of Something”

(Most of you will not find this funny. Let alone understand it. But, for my small group of unregistered lurkers/readers out there, I have five little words for you: Eighth Grade, Danny and Rhonda.)


Tonight I am road-tripping down to Harrisonburg, where I spent four years of tuition in a hazy state of semi-education. My friend Matt (see picture) and I are going to relive our youth. I try not to go down there even though it’s only 2 hours south (it seems pseudo-pathetic in the least.) I’ve only been back once since I graduated, but I have some people I need to catch up with; some good Greek food and cheap pitchers to consume; a student gallery show to attend; an Art Department roof to break onto to watch the stars; and the Green Valley Book Fair to peruse. I love me some Green Valley Book Fair.

Party like it’s 1997!

Other Stuff: (subtitle: Why I Feel Guilty All the Damn Time)

This our last goodbye
I hate to feel the love between us die
But it’s over
Just hear this and then I’ll go you gave me more to live for, more than you’ll ever know.
This is our last embrace, must I dream and always see your face
Why can’t we overcome this wall
Baby, maybe it’s just because I didn’t know you at all

I am a bitch.

I didn’t make him fall in love, (infatuation?), but I toyed with his emotions and I was unfair and I pretended to be something I wasn’t to make him love me and slather me with attention, at first because I was bored, and later because I realized how lovable he really was. How was I to know he’d really, actually like me? That is rare.

I try to sleep at night and instead I feel his moist looks.

And now I must live with the feeling—like I live my life walking on eggshells, like around every corner there is a phone call waiting to tell me that he offed himself. The pressure of knowing him. Maybe it is my punishment.

It’s a hard life to live; I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself, but I am tired of feeling sorry for him. I have someone, someone wonderful and important and beautiful and kind. It’s all he wants, it’s what I have and I take advantage of it. I want to tell him to get over it, move on- it’s been forever and he is only 23. 23 is so terribly young. Why worry you are a jinx to the opposite sex? Why worry you will always be alone? Why mourn a girl who you knew would never stay? I was never going to stay.

I am a bitch. He really didn’t ever know me at all.

Depressed yet? I know this makes no sense. I’ll stop now.

PS My aunt Karen is bomb. It is a joy to know a middle-aged woman so enamored of “I Love Lucy” reruns, binge drinking, and fart jokes.

PPS If I may testosterone-out on you for a moment…. I am 4 out of 10 in my pool for NCAA basketball. The Terps game this Saturday will be INTENSE. That’s not too shabby.

0 Responses to “Someone stole my thighs”

Comments are currently closed.