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Red Lipstick & Green Ink [userpic]


June 3rd, 2005 (03:09 am)

They're showing Mr Smith's "Community Service Commercials" again...
The "Buckle Up" ones...

I remember the days and days and days that he worked on them--
when we were happy and excited to be around each other...
And every little detail that he described having sweated out,
when he would get to my place, after work.

The one where the camera view drops off a building
to show how fast you are going at various speeds...
How he had to match the traffic at a normal speed
while the camera view changed speed...

I know I know I know...
Mind numbing.

Unless a boy-who-hung-the-moon
is telling you about how hard he struggled
to get them juuuuuuust right.

I can see every detail.
Remember every conversation.
Get the old butterflies
I used to get when I would CATCH the commercial.

Late Night Community Service Bits, that make you change the channel.

*kicks her TV*

The girl is still getting him out of her system.


Wait, it's only been two months and two weeks.....
(counts it over on her fingers)


Two and a half MONTHS?

Feels like 6 months.
A year even.

But I still miss him.

Tonight at work, I had to fight the urge to call him,
like it was a cigarette or a drink.

*lights a cigarette, swallows her drink*

I didn't call him.


I haven't called him, or talked with him, since he called me last.
I feel....
Well, I want to feel good about that.

At best, I can say.....I miss him.
But no longer ache for him.

It is dulling...
week after week.

I lapse, but I come back a little less drawn in.

Then one of those damn commercials comes on.
And my heart is a kosher-salt rolled lump, in my throat.

And I feel alone.

Left, Alone.

Plans shattered, laughter missing...
hopes destroyed.

Cassandra is full of music...he put into her.
Music he knew I would like.
1,200 songs.
He chose them for me from his VAST collection.

He was right.
I love these songs...from people I'd never even heard of before,
and people I adore.
Little Indie Pop songs in French, ragged Jazz, a dash of The Ramones,
Magnetic Fields and Bowie and Johnny Cash....

But each song is slightly poisoned.
And it is from THIS well that I draw, to fill my White Jewelry.
So it is a thin plastic albatross I wear around my neck
every day at the bus stop, on my breaks,
walking around Town...

Oh...it doesn't always feel like that...
But sometimes it does.

I need to find new music in my life.

Not the kind in machines.
Though that is an excellent........ crutch.

My House is untidy--and I am trying to get woodwhat here
from her work-visit to Dallas.
To her hopeful visit to Austin.

New Bride to one of my oldest and dearest Friends.
I have never met her.
I want to.

I am not focused enough.
I am wrapped up in this sticky mess of thin cloth.

And may miss something wonderful.

Because I cannot get my moments together.

I want to climb out from under all these blankets
and stop letting ONE loss.....
lead into
the next
and the next
and the next.

IT's over Ginger.
LET it be over.

Move on.
Be able to be happy.

Find your own Music.