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RP for hellinmyeyes

Jun. 2nd, 2009 | 11:16 pm

Continuing this.

She disentangled her fingers from his collar slowly, as she moved to press her mouth against his and breathed in. He smelled like copper and earth, things she was familiar with, things that she was still scared of. It took a second for her to pull back, pull away, grab the door knob and open the car, stepping out. She didn't see the building in front of them as she closed the door to the car, just turned her head to look through the front windshield at him.

Talking a big game was easy but the follow through was harder. She wanted to see where he was going, what he was doing. She wouldn't crook her finger or smile at him like she did other guys. She'd wait, let him lead. Let him be comfortable.

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all i ask

Feb. 21st, 2009 | 08:34 pm
mood: amusedamused

is for you to refrain from cursing in one conversation and see what you're left with.
Tags: ,

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[locked] i get the feeling you're testing me

Feb. 19th, 2009 | 08:28 pm
location: beds from hell
mood: bitchybitchy

motel beds are hell on the back.  i'm not quite sure why anyone would want to fuck on these things, they're more likely to give you a slipped disc than they are to get you off.  when i hit the mattress, i hear a hollow ringing and there is no way that it sounds comfortable.

i'm dissatisfied with everything and of course i am.  but it's an aching, gnawing, scratching on my back between my shoulder blades.  like someone is watching, like someone is gossiping about me, like someone knows something about me i don't.  eyes are watching, someone is all seeing and this isn't me even close to going crazy.  this is me being restless.  

it feels like we've been going weeks without doing anything.  running on a treadmill, balancing on a fence, in status.

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[locked] my very favorite: wet socks, sodden shoes

Feb. 14th, 2009 | 11:25 pm
location: grant's pass

because christ.  i hate running and being able to feel the blisters forming slowly, like little pockets of numbness followed by a thick, throbbing sensation and then nothing.  hate peeling back socks and finding water blisters, red rings around white bulbous spots of infection.  hate knowing there'll be a hole in the skin when they break that will hurt even worse than the formation.  hate knowing there's just no way around it.  at least we carry around a supply of second skin and dry socks.  dry socks are key.

i never remember the "i" after "e" rule.

the swimming pool doesn't look half bad here.  it's after ten, the children should already be in bed. 

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[locked] the mystery of the sphinx will never be known

Feb. 12th, 2009 | 09:51 pm
location: hart's stoppe
mood: crankycranky
music: griddle hash frying

coffee shops are a crap shoot, some of the time you find well seasoned mashed potatoes with the skins, or fresh stewed green beans with the strings pulled and the ends snapped or hand made crust on palm sized fried pies.  most of the time though, you find grit in your coffee, rubbery chicken fried steak and salad sitting in a pool of watered down dressing.  it's depressing and nauseating and makes a diet of gatorade gel and nature harvest granola bars looks pretty appetizing.  i wonder, if your whole life consists of flinging hash for worn truckers and the occasional haggard family, why do you not at least aspire to greater heights?  what is it about a 9-5 job makes one apathetic, bored, exhausted? 

driving in a car for ten hours a day becomes nauseating; the same flash of country side.  the same cars speeding and slowing at whim.  the same faces.  the same expectation of anticipation.  we spend hours finding ways to amuse: new music, car games, using cell phones until tower signals abide (cheering when they're found again), reading or, in viv's case, cleaning the necessities.  we are masters at killing time.  actually, that sentence could've ended a lot of ways with just a change of the last word.

the booth seat at hart's stoppe is sticky and i can't decide if it was spilled soda or dirty wash water.  i'm pretty sure the floor is laminate that dirt has been mopped into instead of mopped away from.  there's a coffee cup in front of me and i'm placing bets as to if there's grit or not.

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[locked] leaving grand rapids

Feb. 11th, 2009 | 09:58 pm
location: motel delonge
mood: apatheticapathetic
music: news 9

still can't get the mental image of gym shorts and sweat bands out of my head.  been a couple of weeks now and it sneaks up to crack me up.  guess it's better than it was six months ago.  especially since we didn't manage to do what needed to be done this time, again. 

craving these fried fish soft tacos on corn tortillas from this diner at home.  not sure if that means i'm craving home or just craving familiarity again.  probably the latter, i really hate this steady sense of falling into some sort of clawing, suffocating abyss that's been riding our backs since september. 

vivi kind of hates me right now.  then again, she kind of hates life right now.  she's cracked one of her toenails in half; i told her to buy new running shoes.  she looks better now then i did two weeks ago so whatever.  like the fucking angel is just going to show up and throw down with her.  she'd have better luck with winchester two again.

trying to decide what to do after i'm done with this.  there's a bar down the street on one side and a diner down the other side of the street.  pretty sure if i ask vivi, she'll throw a condom at me and say it's time to get our drink on.  not like it's that appetizing but it's been awhile.  i guess it's not such a bad idea. 

maybe i'll set the picture of him in the shorts and the aviator glasses to my desktop.

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