This city can be a beautiful place some days, most nights. On my bicycle the streets feel much safer and I see this place, this over sized town, differently than most. I see the people, the streets, the lights, the shops, the bus stops, the restaurants all blurring past my peripherals. At times all I pay attention to is the steady pace of breath escaping my open lips, or the sound of the buses and sometimes the banter of pedestrians that means so much to them, so much.
When the snow falls, the streets are much more still as though every single flake absorbs a bit of sound, encompassing that very sonance to calm the air. I feel warmer when snow falls; safe. I remember watching the three red lights of the radio tower from my window when I was much younger. Two flash, then one, two, one, taking turns, but always the same. Those lights looked at their best when snow was falling and made for a feeling of security.
Alison.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Giggle Beatbox
Last night before I fell asleep I thought about you. I think about you everyday, but last night was different; my heart ached. I wondered exactly where you were. I know where you are, but I have never seen where you sleep. I knew, just like me, you were laying in a bed, because the time was too late for your brown eyes to be open. I thought about the type of bed you were laying in and what the surrounding room had in it. And I hurt because I did not know, but mostly because I will never know.
Then I wondered if you still were chronic about brushing your teeth. I wanted to tell you that I carry a toothbrush with me now. You do not know my toothbrush is black and made from 100% recycled plastics. Yogurt cups, mostly. I brush my teeth with recycled yogurt cups.
I get ready on the weekends and am forced to make judgements about the ridiculousness of my outfits by myself. I wonder if you do the same?
I really miss you.
Love,
Alison.
Then I wondered if you still were chronic about brushing your teeth. I wanted to tell you that I carry a toothbrush with me now. You do not know my toothbrush is black and made from 100% recycled plastics. Yogurt cups, mostly. I brush my teeth with recycled yogurt cups.
I get ready on the weekends and am forced to make judgements about the ridiculousness of my outfits by myself. I wonder if you do the same?
I really miss you.
Love,
Alison.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Enamor
In order of relevance:
1) Oh, hi there. I do not quite remember the last time I saw you, but I do remember how beautiful the sunrise was. Having you back is so bittersweet.
2) Then you. Your letter made me cry for near an hour, but that was perfect. I will need to see you tomorrow.
3) Just when I thought you had forgotten about me, you come around again. Your timing is inexplicably wrong, but you have me.
4) You. Well, you are too unversed to understand.
5) I will always care about you; because of the lot, you were the start of something.
Intricately yours,
Alison
1) Oh, hi there. I do not quite remember the last time I saw you, but I do remember how beautiful the sunrise was. Having you back is so bittersweet.
2) Then you. Your letter made me cry for near an hour, but that was perfect. I will need to see you tomorrow.
3) Just when I thought you had forgotten about me, you come around again. Your timing is inexplicably wrong, but you have me.
4) You. Well, you are too unversed to understand.
5) I will always care about you; because of the lot, you were the start of something.
Intricately yours,
Alison
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Autumn is Impermanent
Four AM and why am I awake?
I am so excited and hurt and anxious and scared. Life is too thrilling, too fast, too here. Everyday has been good to me; some thing's wrong, or bound to be.
My head under your chin, dizzy with wine, watching a man sing and this could be perfect till you leave again. And you left again.
On the lawn of the capital, holding hands, drinking coffee and laying in leaves as a couple just got married.
"I want to get married...
...more than once."
We laughed, we always do.
And then goodbye, till Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Summer. Holidays and seasons bring us together. In between are unanswered letters written with ultra fine point pens, again and again.
Love,
Alison.
I sign.
I am so excited and hurt and anxious and scared. Life is too thrilling, too fast, too here. Everyday has been good to me; some thing's wrong, or bound to be.
My head under your chin, dizzy with wine, watching a man sing and this could be perfect till you leave again. And you left again.
On the lawn of the capital, holding hands, drinking coffee and laying in leaves as a couple just got married.
"I want to get married...
...more than once."
We laughed, we always do.
And then goodbye, till Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Summer. Holidays and seasons bring us together. In between are unanswered letters written with ultra fine point pens, again and again.
Love,
Alison.
I sign.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Just Because We're Gone
Dearest Carnivore,
It isn't that I find you dense,
just your reasoning could be better.
Altogether quite precious, though really.
If I had a pretty singing voice, or wait,
maybe now it's called confidence,
then I'd write you perfect melodies,
and send them to you electronically.
I remember yummy yummy
and nighttime public access television.
And the days of eye appointments
and you calling my professors,
informing them I would not be making it to class.
Now, you see, it's seven pills a day,
with an 8oz glass of filtered water.
Not watching weight, but watching you wait.
Best,
Herbivore
It isn't that I find you dense,
just your reasoning could be better.
Altogether quite precious, though really.
If I had a pretty singing voice, or wait,
maybe now it's called confidence,
then I'd write you perfect melodies,
and send them to you electronically.
I remember yummy yummy
and nighttime public access television.
And the days of eye appointments
and you calling my professors,
informing them I would not be making it to class.
Now, you see, it's seven pills a day,
with an 8oz glass of filtered water.
Not watching weight, but watching you wait.
Best,
Herbivore
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Dirty Mini Blinds
The fog kept me company on the drive home, along with the awful songs I put in the middle of a mix for someone eight hours away. Only the moon watched me blush as I sat driving and embarrassed. The semitrailers stayed to my right at a steady pace and I kept my cruise control at the tip of my thumb. I smelled of weak coffee, made an hour earlier by a close friend with a new French press, that poured from a secondhand mug onto my decidedly third or fourth hand, hounds tooth, dry clean only skirt. I found this circumstance suitably typical, as everything I own has a trace of coffee, somewhere.
Two hours from my apartment to my home is not a long time, but long enough to wander in thought.
Every single day since then, I've thought about two Friday's ago. The day at the Clicquot Club when the woman in the white pickup truck drove over four tables of people eating on the patio and killed that man. His name was Jerome. Every now and then I imagine the accident in my head, hear the families screaming and crying, see his dead body revealed as the truck is pushed off, and feel Grace holding me as I shake and begin to form tears. Most of the time, I think about how that could of been Grace or Alex or me, but I try not to think that way. We were fortunate. You'll be in the garden, right? Yes, the garden.
Alyssa has not moved in yet. Her belongings are there, but she is not. I spend mornings and most of afternoons in my bed with the sun just peeking through the shades, wishing I were out shining with it. Usually I sleep, but at times I simply lay there.
Tonight, I read every single word Grace wrote about Quito. I was beaming the entire time. At the end of day four I felt just as lonely as I was before I started reading, but more content. I am so thrilled about her life in Ecuador. When she left, I told her she would meet the South American version of Alison, and that they would be best friends. She agreed and said "It will probably be a guy." Es la verdad solomente si él es rubio. Usted es siempre mi mujer de amazonas. Baile para nosotros, por favor mi amor.
And you, you've been so busy making plans, you forgot to put me in them. But maybe that was the both of us, complaining in space.
Alison.
Two hours from my apartment to my home is not a long time, but long enough to wander in thought.
Every single day since then, I've thought about two Friday's ago. The day at the Clicquot Club when the woman in the white pickup truck drove over four tables of people eating on the patio and killed that man. His name was Jerome. Every now and then I imagine the accident in my head, hear the families screaming and crying, see his dead body revealed as the truck is pushed off, and feel Grace holding me as I shake and begin to form tears. Most of the time, I think about how that could of been Grace or Alex or me, but I try not to think that way. We were fortunate. You'll be in the garden, right? Yes, the garden.
Alyssa has not moved in yet. Her belongings are there, but she is not. I spend mornings and most of afternoons in my bed with the sun just peeking through the shades, wishing I were out shining with it. Usually I sleep, but at times I simply lay there.
Tonight, I read every single word Grace wrote about Quito. I was beaming the entire time. At the end of day four I felt just as lonely as I was before I started reading, but more content. I am so thrilled about her life in Ecuador. When she left, I told her she would meet the South American version of Alison, and that they would be best friends. She agreed and said "It will probably be a guy." Es la verdad solomente si él es rubio. Usted es siempre mi mujer de amazonas. Baile para nosotros, por favor mi amor.
And you, you've been so busy making plans, you forgot to put me in them. But maybe that was the both of us, complaining in space.
Alison.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Feta Cheese Made You Like Me
I received a surprise visit at the Box Office today. This person, I am in love with. Her name is Jane, she is my mother. Apparently contract negotiations for the state are going on and this brought her to Madison; to me. She handed me a raspberry muffin through the small rectangular opening in the glass, along with some opinions through the circular one. Really though, the window is not made of glass at all. The window is more of a Plexiglass, glass is just easier on the eyes (while reading). She hates my new haircut, which only inspired me to cut it shorter tonight. I adore her, she makes me smile and presumably spiteful.
I have been employed by the University Theatre since October; not once since then has any of my managerial staff shown much interest in getting to know who I am. Not until today. I am not sure if he got to know me because I overheard him tell my manager I was "cute," or because he was bored. More than likely, he was tired of staring at beige and high on paint fumes. The Director of Theatre just moved in the end of last week. Since then he has repainted his new office, removed every filing cabinet in sight, rearranged the carpeting and given me coffee. The last part won me over instantly. He also met my mother. In order to truly understand who I am, you need to know Jane. She might even tell you this.
And so, he sat with me today for what could have been anywhere between twenty minutes and an hour and just talked. He ate a homemade salad as I fumbled with the corner pages of my book. We talked about my years of ballet, Afghan restaurants, New York, having children, timeless literature, Greek heritage, street fashion and of course, theatre. I was almost sad when he had to leave, but not exactly. I was sorry that a man like him never had any children. Hopefully one day, someone feels that way about me. I felt upset for about a minute and then continued to read.
I lied. I probably will have children someday and they will be the ones feeling sorry for me. I like babies too goddamned much not to.
Alison.
I have been employed by the University Theatre since October; not once since then has any of my managerial staff shown much interest in getting to know who I am. Not until today. I am not sure if he got to know me because I overheard him tell my manager I was "cute," or because he was bored. More than likely, he was tired of staring at beige and high on paint fumes. The Director of Theatre just moved in the end of last week. Since then he has repainted his new office, removed every filing cabinet in sight, rearranged the carpeting and given me coffee. The last part won me over instantly. He also met my mother. In order to truly understand who I am, you need to know Jane. She might even tell you this.
And so, he sat with me today for what could have been anywhere between twenty minutes and an hour and just talked. He ate a homemade salad as I fumbled with the corner pages of my book. We talked about my years of ballet, Afghan restaurants, New York, having children, timeless literature, Greek heritage, street fashion and of course, theatre. I was almost sad when he had to leave, but not exactly. I was sorry that a man like him never had any children. Hopefully one day, someone feels that way about me. I felt upset for about a minute and then continued to read.
I lied. I probably will have children someday and they will be the ones feeling sorry for me. I like babies too goddamned much not to.
Alison.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Making Change
A tiny white spider is trapped in the far right penny slot of the cash drawer at work. Maybe he's trapped, but maybe he just lives there. I doubt this slot is so much a home as a prison. I feel this way because at the end of everyday I move him from one drawer to another, removing him from his former abode and into one he is forced to become acquainted with, only to move again in the morning. Which in actuality is not at all miserable, but I can not help but feel slightly depressed everyday I look down at him.
I want to help him out, in the literal sense, but I also want him to figure this out on his own. I know he is clever enough but just needs a little encouragement. Maybe tomorrow, if he's still there (which is more than probable), I will create a makeshift bridge for him out of a ticket stub and see if he catches on.
Yeah, that's what I'll do.
It's also very possible this "he" is a "she," but I do not know how to accurately tell the sex of a spider, especially one so tiny.
Alison
I want to help him out, in the literal sense, but I also want him to figure this out on his own. I know he is clever enough but just needs a little encouragement. Maybe tomorrow, if he's still there (which is more than probable), I will create a makeshift bridge for him out of a ticket stub and see if he catches on.
Yeah, that's what I'll do.
It's also very possible this "he" is a "she," but I do not know how to accurately tell the sex of a spider, especially one so tiny.
Alison
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Walking Matilda
I want to say so many things that should be left unsaid and cry so many tears that should remain in their respectable ducts. I want to ask questions. I want to scream at an unresponsive audience and beg them for answers that will remain hidden in fists, clenched tight only for their discretion.
I should be steadfast and persistent with my actions, and myself but never before in my life have I doubted myself as much as I am right now. This doubt is pressed tight against the fake smiles I force out everyday. My eyes have never been so honest and telling than right now. If you looked deep enough and long enough, you could feel the sadness piercing into your own.
I want to move backwards to a few weeks ago. Each morning I went for a walk around an unfamiliar block and the cobwebs of the early spiders would dance against my cheeks. I walked past houses with porches filled with propaganda protesting politics. I made up stories about the people who lived inside, but never judgments. Every now and then I would find unacknowledged beauty.
One day I found it in the form of a small child sitting on the trunk of an old car. She was alone, no guardians within sight. She had a dark complexion with long, wavy black hair and could not have been older than five. I did not see her at first, but she had been watching me for a block. At first when I noticed her, I was startled; her silence was her nature. "Hi," I said. "Hi," she replied. "I like your dress," I said. She looked down and then back at me, "Thank you." I started to walk away, turned back and we exchanged smiles. I saw her again at least seven times within the next week and a half. I do not know if in our passing she remembered me or not, but she always managed to make me smile, a genuine smile.
Sunday afternoons I met the faces behind the silent protests. I saw young families sharing breakfast on their porches, old couples carefully watering their unkempt flower and bush arrangements, fathers teaching their children to garden, an elderly woman holding the hand of another as they went for a stroll on the sidewalk parallel to mine. This was perfect. Mondays brought empty porches, growing weeds, elephant shaped watering cans abandoned in hostas and my shadow lining the sidewalks. This was even better. The remnants of the faces left me to make my own assumptions of their whereabouts and convictions.
I would share these moments with myself and then take extended naps, only waking up to feel it all again hours later.
Alison.
I should be steadfast and persistent with my actions, and myself but never before in my life have I doubted myself as much as I am right now. This doubt is pressed tight against the fake smiles I force out everyday. My eyes have never been so honest and telling than right now. If you looked deep enough and long enough, you could feel the sadness piercing into your own.
I want to move backwards to a few weeks ago. Each morning I went for a walk around an unfamiliar block and the cobwebs of the early spiders would dance against my cheeks. I walked past houses with porches filled with propaganda protesting politics. I made up stories about the people who lived inside, but never judgments. Every now and then I would find unacknowledged beauty.
One day I found it in the form of a small child sitting on the trunk of an old car. She was alone, no guardians within sight. She had a dark complexion with long, wavy black hair and could not have been older than five. I did not see her at first, but she had been watching me for a block. At first when I noticed her, I was startled; her silence was her nature. "Hi," I said. "Hi," she replied. "I like your dress," I said. She looked down and then back at me, "Thank you." I started to walk away, turned back and we exchanged smiles. I saw her again at least seven times within the next week and a half. I do not know if in our passing she remembered me or not, but she always managed to make me smile, a genuine smile.
Sunday afternoons I met the faces behind the silent protests. I saw young families sharing breakfast on their porches, old couples carefully watering their unkempt flower and bush arrangements, fathers teaching their children to garden, an elderly woman holding the hand of another as they went for a stroll on the sidewalk parallel to mine. This was perfect. Mondays brought empty porches, growing weeds, elephant shaped watering cans abandoned in hostas and my shadow lining the sidewalks. This was even better. The remnants of the faces left me to make my own assumptions of their whereabouts and convictions.
I would share these moments with myself and then take extended naps, only waking up to feel it all again hours later.
Alison.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
This Is More Than Food Poisoning
I only ever burn my tongue on two things: Coffee and Spaghettios. This consistency exposes specific characteristics about my personality by relaying my impatience and my incessant fear of botulism. My tendency to deny the latter refutes my said impatience.
Do you follow? Say no, because the next is unrelated.
My mom is engaged, my dad has a tumor, my best friends are leaving, my friends are pretending and I am flirting with insanity on a daily basis. I need truth in my life and the former statements are laced with lies. I put honesty on a pedestal, nothing else. Not people, not material objects, not interests. I do not care who you are, what you own or what you do, but at least be true. Be a real person. Like what you like and never be ashamed of that because the second you are, you start lying to yourself.
I guess what I am trying to say is, I really like Spaghettios, especially and only the kind with the miniature meatballs.
So back the fuck off.
Do you follow? Say no, because the next is unrelated.
My mom is engaged, my dad has a tumor, my best friends are leaving, my friends are pretending and I am flirting with insanity on a daily basis. I need truth in my life and the former statements are laced with lies. I put honesty on a pedestal, nothing else. Not people, not material objects, not interests. I do not care who you are, what you own or what you do, but at least be true. Be a real person. Like what you like and never be ashamed of that because the second you are, you start lying to yourself.
I guess what I am trying to say is, I really like Spaghettios, especially and only the kind with the miniature meatballs.
So back the fuck off.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Yeah, That Just Happened
Scotty walked in with a blank face,"What happened in here?"
We were all a little shook up, but the hilarity of the situation was about to set in and we knew we would all be alright. We opened the door to them, we let them in. Once we allowed them into our home, they knew they could do whatever the hell they wanted, and they did.
The five of us were just being kids, simply fooling around. A balcony and 500 water balloons gone wrong in a fit of rage. We were having fun, not being malicious.
Two, five, number eight landed at the blonde, stocky one's feet. The brunette in the work shirt turned around, "Water balloons, funny." Ten minutes later he was throwing our Brita pitcher and flipping our coffee table. They cleaned off our kitchen counters with their anger and threw a glass at the kitchen floor, the cup shattered at my feet. And he was right, this was funny and I was laughing.
"So, who the fuck's been throwing water balloons?" Work shirt yelled. "HAVE YOU?"
"No," Grace said from the couch next to Alex.
"Yes," Brianni said from the kitchen sink, with a florescent balloon in her hand.
The Brita pitcher smashed into the floor.
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he screamed.
Then the coffee table flipped up onto the couch.
"You need to leave, because right now, what you're doing is way worse than what we did to you. I am calling the cops." I said straight faced, holding back a smile.
"I worked for the fucking PD, I have them on speed dial, let me call them." He screamed at Brianni and me, with veins pumping in his neck and bulging eyes. He displayed this number proudly on his cell phone, like the badge he had probably lost after a rage blackout when he formally worked for the Madison Police Department.
"Call them then, because if you don't I'm going to," I lied.
"Let's call them from outside," Blonde Man said, pulling at Work Shirt.
They were mad, this was more than apparent through their violence.
Then broken glass at my feet.
After a lot of screaming and more threats they left. We stared at the apartment, all of us replaying the incident over and over again in our heads. We learned our lesson, but only sort of. "What the fuck just happened?" was the mutual look on all of our faces.
"You know what we should have done?" Brianni questioned.
"What?" I asked.
"We should have stood on the balcony after they left and waited for them to leave the building and thrown some more fucking balloons at them," she laughed.
"Oh my God, that's brilliant."
We were all a little shook up, but the hilarity of the situation was about to set in and we knew we would all be alright. We opened the door to them, we let them in. Once we allowed them into our home, they knew they could do whatever the hell they wanted, and they did.
The five of us were just being kids, simply fooling around. A balcony and 500 water balloons gone wrong in a fit of rage. We were having fun, not being malicious.
Two, five, number eight landed at the blonde, stocky one's feet. The brunette in the work shirt turned around, "Water balloons, funny." Ten minutes later he was throwing our Brita pitcher and flipping our coffee table. They cleaned off our kitchen counters with their anger and threw a glass at the kitchen floor, the cup shattered at my feet. And he was right, this was funny and I was laughing.
"So, who the fuck's been throwing water balloons?" Work shirt yelled. "HAVE YOU?"
"No," Grace said from the couch next to Alex.
"Yes," Brianni said from the kitchen sink, with a florescent balloon in her hand.
The Brita pitcher smashed into the floor.
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he screamed.
Then the coffee table flipped up onto the couch.
"You need to leave, because right now, what you're doing is way worse than what we did to you. I am calling the cops." I said straight faced, holding back a smile.
"I worked for the fucking PD, I have them on speed dial, let me call them." He screamed at Brianni and me, with veins pumping in his neck and bulging eyes. He displayed this number proudly on his cell phone, like the badge he had probably lost after a rage blackout when he formally worked for the Madison Police Department.
"Call them then, because if you don't I'm going to," I lied.
"Let's call them from outside," Blonde Man said, pulling at Work Shirt.
They were mad, this was more than apparent through their violence.
Then broken glass at my feet.
After a lot of screaming and more threats they left. We stared at the apartment, all of us replaying the incident over and over again in our heads. We learned our lesson, but only sort of. "What the fuck just happened?" was the mutual look on all of our faces.
"You know what we should have done?" Brianni questioned.
"What?" I asked.
"We should have stood on the balcony after they left and waited for them to leave the building and thrown some more fucking balloons at them," she laughed.
"Oh my God, that's brilliant."
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
A City So Nice, They Named It Twice
This is good. I am okay.
Wednesday I'll be on a train to New York, NY and awaiting my arrival will be my best friend. That sentence seems surreal. I have not been to NY since I was a sophomore in high school. Four years later, I will return to that city I fell in love with, to meet a person I love.
I am so happy Grace has found someone, especially someone so understanding. Seems when all is right, all goes wrong. She deserves the world, that girl. I need to be alone for a while, not without friends, but alone. This time is precious and so delicate. This time, is porcelain.
He will be on a train from Boston, too. Meeting his parents in New Haven and continuing to New York City, the very same day. I miss him, but we have different lives. This way is right. Maybe I will see him when we are in New York together, but probably not. I hope so, anyway. The train ride will be wonderful. Books and music. They keep me steady, keep me going, keep me in search.
Today Dad took me to the JFK Presidential Library. After staring into the hazy sky over the ocean, I turned to see these words, said by John F. Kennedy:
"All this will not be finished in the first one hundred days. Nor will it be finished in the first one thousand days; nor in the life of this Administration; nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin."
Exactly. Let us begin.
Alison.
Two hundred dollars, a two hundred dollar train ticket and two days. I am ready.
Wednesday I'll be on a train to New York, NY and awaiting my arrival will be my best friend. That sentence seems surreal. I have not been to NY since I was a sophomore in high school. Four years later, I will return to that city I fell in love with, to meet a person I love.
I am so happy Grace has found someone, especially someone so understanding. Seems when all is right, all goes wrong. She deserves the world, that girl. I need to be alone for a while, not without friends, but alone. This time is precious and so delicate. This time, is porcelain.
He will be on a train from Boston, too. Meeting his parents in New Haven and continuing to New York City, the very same day. I miss him, but we have different lives. This way is right. Maybe I will see him when we are in New York together, but probably not. I hope so, anyway. The train ride will be wonderful. Books and music. They keep me steady, keep me going, keep me in search.
Today Dad took me to the JFK Presidential Library. After staring into the hazy sky over the ocean, I turned to see these words, said by John F. Kennedy:
"All this will not be finished in the first one hundred days. Nor will it be finished in the first one thousand days; nor in the life of this Administration; nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin."
Exactly. Let us begin.
Alison.
Two hundred dollars, a two hundred dollar train ticket and two days. I am ready.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Summer Air
Every time I see his face. It breaks my heart.
I guess this is only fair. I am getting my own for every time I broke his.
Alison.
I guess this is only fair. I am getting my own for every time I broke his.
Alison.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Bollix
With Spring comes memories of better days. Days when I could step into my car, roll down the windows and listen to what I thought was the best music I would ever hear. That time is here again and I am excited about the weather, but honestly, just that.
I hate what we had, because I envy it. And I know why we argue, because I hate it. We argue because we want to be a part of what we're not, we want to drive 3 minutes to talk, we know what makes the other hurt, we can't be together, but mostly because we'll never be the same.
Hard times are on their way. No, they're here. I hide because that's what I'm best at. I want to be supportive and strong, but I've done that all my life, for everyone but myself. I always hid that last piece in my left palm, so I could be the one to complete the puzzle. I need to stop being selfish and let someone else finish the puzzle for once. Reluctantly, I'll hand off that final piece and encourage you to complete the picture.
I want you in my life. No matter how much this hurts us both.
Alison.
I hate what we had, because I envy it. And I know why we argue, because I hate it. We argue because we want to be a part of what we're not, we want to drive 3 minutes to talk, we know what makes the other hurt, we can't be together, but mostly because we'll never be the same.
Hard times are on their way. No, they're here. I hide because that's what I'm best at. I want to be supportive and strong, but I've done that all my life, for everyone but myself. I always hid that last piece in my left palm, so I could be the one to complete the puzzle. I need to stop being selfish and let someone else finish the puzzle for once. Reluctantly, I'll hand off that final piece and encourage you to complete the picture.
I want you in my life. No matter how much this hurts us both.
Alison.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Sunday, February 4, 2007
More like, MegaBust
Here's the thing about my life... nothing can ever be executed without an obstacle, or five.
What was supposed to happen Saturday:
Randy takes Grace and me to Milwaukee by 11am. Her and I meet Chris and we drive his friend to the O'Hare Airport. We spend the day in Chicago and say "hi" to Sue at the Field Museum. That night we go to Logan Square Auditorium and see Camera Obscura and The Essex Green at 9:30pm.
What happened Friday night:
Unmerciful weather (that, alcohol, or both, see: "Boozehound") impairs my judgment and I severely sprain my ankle.
What really happened Saturday:
Randy and I spend 3 hours of the morning in the ER getting my ankle x-rayed. We leave, with me on crutches, being told to stay off my feet for at least 2 days. In the meantime, Chris has departed for Chicago. Randy and I pick up Grace (and Brian) and head to Milwaukee. During the drive, I call the MegaBus and purchase tickets to Chicago. The woman says the bus will arrive at 3:30pm.
We eat lunch at Alterra, you know, have a nice time. Grace and I are dropped off at the bus stop early. Then, we wait. And wait. I call MegaBus, to find out the bus was on time and that it came at 3:00pm. We would have made the bus if we were in Chicago going to Milwaukee, and if the MegaBus lady knew how to properly convey information over the telephone.
At this point, Chris has been in Chicago all day, we just lost twenty bucks, missed our bus and won't be able to leave again until about six, landing us in Chicago around eight or nine. I call Blair and he agrees to let us use his car to drive to Chicago. Grace and I drive to Chicago, meet Chris, hit up Dunkin Donuts/ Baskin Robbins combo, loiter, wait 5 minutes for a parking spot that was never meant to be and finally get to Logan Square.
The concert was phenomenal. I'm infatuated with Tracyanne Campbell and all her elegance and timidness.
Well, I'm off to inflate my air cast and practice some mad crutchin'.
Alison.
What was supposed to happen Saturday:
Randy takes Grace and me to Milwaukee by 11am. Her and I meet Chris and we drive his friend to the O'Hare Airport. We spend the day in Chicago and say "hi" to Sue at the Field Museum. That night we go to Logan Square Auditorium and see Camera Obscura and The Essex Green at 9:30pm.
What happened Friday night:
Unmerciful weather (that, alcohol, or both, see: "Boozehound") impairs my judgment and I severely sprain my ankle.
What really happened Saturday:
Randy and I spend 3 hours of the morning in the ER getting my ankle x-rayed. We leave, with me on crutches, being told to stay off my feet for at least 2 days. In the meantime, Chris has departed for Chicago. Randy and I pick up Grace (and Brian) and head to Milwaukee. During the drive, I call the MegaBus and purchase tickets to Chicago. The woman says the bus will arrive at 3:30pm.
We eat lunch at Alterra, you know, have a nice time. Grace and I are dropped off at the bus stop early. Then, we wait. And wait. I call MegaBus, to find out the bus was on time and that it came at 3:00pm. We would have made the bus if we were in Chicago going to Milwaukee, and if the MegaBus lady knew how to properly convey information over the telephone.
At this point, Chris has been in Chicago all day, we just lost twenty bucks, missed our bus and won't be able to leave again until about six, landing us in Chicago around eight or nine. I call Blair and he agrees to let us use his car to drive to Chicago. Grace and I drive to Chicago, meet Chris, hit up Dunkin Donuts/ Baskin Robbins combo, loiter, wait 5 minutes for a parking spot that was never meant to be and finally get to Logan Square.
The concert was phenomenal. I'm infatuated with Tracyanne Campbell and all her elegance and timidness.
Well, I'm off to inflate my air cast and practice some mad crutchin'.
Alison.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Boozehound
Oh you know, just drinking some straight Cran-Strawberry Juice, compliments of Ocean Spray. Non-alcoholic, obv.
I'm starting to realize that I ruin other people's lives when I get ridiculously intoxicated. Somewhat unintentionally. Somewhat. So, if you happen to be one of those people, I apologize.
But until next time, Jello shots on Friday with the ladies.
Your lush,
Alison.
I'm starting to realize that I ruin other people's lives when I get ridiculously intoxicated. Somewhat unintentionally. Somewhat. So, if you happen to be one of those people, I apologize.
But until next time, Jello shots on Friday with the ladies.
Your lush,
Alison.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Going "home"
Tonight is my last evening in Appleton for a while now. I am excited to head back to Madison, but not so to wake up in a few short hours. My break was just what I needed but now I am ready to learn some more.
My classes should be alright, except I scheduled them like an ass due to some reasons which later made me even more upset. I have class on some days for 3 hours straight with only 15 minute breaks in between. Jealous? I know. It is hard not to be. The highlight of the new semester is that I now have a single room. So now I can stay up till 3am and keep the light on. But, I can't deny that I will miss the unicorn-lightning poster and short glimpses of Anime; daily.
I should finish packing all my things, which really consist of my shoes. . . and external hard drive. Oh, and toiletries. But whatevs. I'll just sit here and stare instead.
Alison.
My classes should be alright, except I scheduled them like an ass due to some reasons which later made me even more upset. I have class on some days for 3 hours straight with only 15 minute breaks in between. Jealous? I know. It is hard not to be. The highlight of the new semester is that I now have a single room. So now I can stay up till 3am and keep the light on. But, I can't deny that I will miss the unicorn-lightning poster and short glimpses of Anime; daily.
I should finish packing all my things, which really consist of my shoes. . . and external hard drive. Oh, and toiletries. But whatevs. I'll just sit here and stare instead.
Alison.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Good Morning
A lot of things make me uneasy. Many, I wish not to disclose. Starting a new blog is one of them. I used to write everyday in Xanga, what a silly time that was. Really. My recent bedtime is another thing. I haven't been able to fall asleep earlier than 5am for the last week or so now. This sudden trend is going to be a pain if it keeps up. Hopefully I can kick it by the 22nd when school resumes again.
Well, I'll keep this brief.Goodnight,
Alison.
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