I should be sleeping.

But I'm not. (Duh.) Stephanie is filling me with amusement (and some harsh realities, but that's okay) online and since it's been so damned long since I talked to her in real time, it's way worth it. And I've still got Mark on the other MUSH, too. WHEE!

This is a momentous evening, because tonight Mark and I were on the phone for over an hour without getting mad at each other for... god knows what. We bicker over anything. We've never had a conversation without someone getting annoyed. This is good, because it means that it's possible. So when I'm out that way in September, we probably won't be involved in a double homicide. This is good.

I was going to call Natalie tonight, but I never got around to it. Oops. I meant to call Dad too. I'm a bad phone friend.

I am going to get my name back.
I am going to buy my bed.
I am going to do this /soon/.

Spontaneous online poetry

We're sorta bantering back and forth - one names a topic, the other writes.

Topic 1: Winter and Divorce (her)
I remember the night we had
that conversation
in the middle of that
godawful winter that
would not quit.
You kept saying that I should go
get out, leave.
You kept cutting into me like a dull knife
unable to break the skin
of a too ripe tomato
and instead just
makes it bleed.

Topic 2: Lobotomies and Grapes (me)
These red ones? They're for when we said 'forever' and 'i do'
And the greens are for your eyes, when you smile
Those big black globes are past connections:
Your lips on the back of my neck
And a scratching finger on my palm
Plucked from the twisted vines of my cortex
Plucked from my memory
Pitted.

Topic 3: A cinder block wall (her)
I stand tall, tall
taller than anything that walks
by me those fleshy
pink things soft and heavy
with sweat and stink and death
just waiting to happen.
Sure they piss on me
and fuck on me
and sometimes stain me with oils that come
hissing out of a can
like pathetic last breaths
And I look down on them all
and smile.

Topic 4: Mothballs (me)
There was something
exotic?
intriguing?
different about the way
you smelled that night in the treehouse.
I imagined it an olfactory boundary
in the perfumery of my childhood,
an unspoken fault line we crossed when
lips met lips, and
hands touched hips,
but you were simply
wearing a second-hand sweater
you'd just gotten from Goodwill.

Thanks. That was fun.