| | i am about to take one precarious step into the murky waters of living with a girlfriend. that's right xangaland! it's been ages since i've posted any rumblings of my life and the need has overtaken me.
now that i've worked the long teeth of winter from my hide, i've found myself in the company of someone that likes me. we've spent so much time together that my apartment has fallen into an even more dilapadated state than is usual. it's long stretches of time that my personal effects have to endure between my visits. dishes aren't washed, laundry remains soiled. i live out of a bag and small pile of clothes at her place. there's a constant sheen of day old sweat on me and my hair is always fucked up. the only logical thing is to join these halves in a new, bright, big apartment.
it's in logan square. there's a painting room. really, i'm so excited about the whole thing i can't make my hands type. but also, there's a little fish at the bottom of my stomach and it's found a little string. it's working this string loose with it's jaws. it's tugging it out and defining a new fear in its work.
the fear is not me and danny. it's not my new found sojurn to work. the strings in the teeth of the fish run all the way up to places like alaska and grad schools that i can't name. they're being unraveled from the neighborhoods of chicago. there is and has been a continental drift between me and those i care quite deeply for yawning over the past months.
i've had calving friendships throughout my life. well, i guess we all have. and it's not that i think i have to chose between girlfriend + apartment, or all my bohemian friends, but really, i mean fuck, where have they been? i live in chicago for chrissake but i've never felt more off the map.
i don't place value in facebook, clever comments on pictures, joining groups or any of that paralife nonsense. can we please have a dinner party? how i miss wine and candle light. how i miss gently sweating in a room full of people listening to a new poem. i miss talking drunkenly at two in the morning about a half finished painting that embarasses me. and this isn't nostalgia. this isn't a bitter twenty six year old reminicing about college years. this is someone that knew they were part of something unique and good. someone that's been distracted by solitude and cheap whisky. i've had my head down for two years and now i'm looking up, bleary eyed, but no one's in the room.
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| | Posted 6/29/2009 3:23 AM - 11 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
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