Saturday is a day for death. The Baron has come calling. No one on-line and I am trapped by the monsterous spawning of ignorant wombs. I’m reminded of a dream I had years ago. I was pregnant. I could feel it moving inside me and as if that wasn’t horrific enough, the life sucking parasite had razor blade teeth. Sharp triangles of metal gleaming from it’s pink gums. I could picture the thing perfectly. Perfect little baby fingers, perfect little baby with just a little bit of fuzz on it’s waxy head. I shot up as I woke, choking a scream back. Terrified, I was in shock. The classic moment girls get in the horror movies. Blinking, newly in reality, I put my hands down from my face to realize the sheets and blankets were damp. No, soaked. Thinking I would have to change them in the morning when I was feeling a bit more sane, I let myself fall back in relief only to suddenly scream between gritted teeth. Pain unbelievable. Visceral hot and now. Fire burning flesh and terrible. My body knotted with it. Whimpering, I very carefully sat up and reached over to click on the lamp. Red. Red everywhere.
Turns out I tried to claw the thing out in my sleep.
Oh that was a nasty moment. Cigarette smoke in my hair from I don’t know where caught in my throat. The scent put water in my mouth, gave me a jab in the pit of my belly. I wanted suddenly to force my tongue into someone’s mouth and clip their teeth with mine. A sudden impulse that contrasts badly with my job. Digging my fingers into black denim jeans and shoving them hard onto my messy bed.
I would be horrified with myself if I weren’t getting used to missing my lover. I’d hate to imagine what I’d be like if I were the sort to listen to my body. Yes, I agree, knowing when to eat would be a bonus, but it’s enough deterrent watching hormones surge once a month. “Hey – kiss him!” and my brain replying, “WTF? Piss off! You’re insane.” Right there, yeah. I like having that two steps back from the physical. No wonder Mishka always thinks I’m strange. She’s plugged into hers. Her advice is wonderful in that it never wavers, as soon as the mention of desire comes up, it’s “You’re too complicated. I don’t understand. Jump his bones”. Reminds me of a page from I Feel Sick. Jhonen’s charactor Devi is ranting at her friend for always giving the same advice no matter what the problem. “I’m being attacked by killer bees!” “You should get out more!!”
My roommate is off in Toronto this weekend. Soft instrumental music drifting from the speakers and it’s so quiet that I can hear my silver pocketwatch ticking from the bedside table. My mind paints an image of standing on the tops of cliffs and staring over green sea, palely foamed with whitecaps, or better – sitting in a train, like I haven’t done since I was a child. Riding clickaclack clickaclack over the prairies, complete darkness inside the carriage, the only rare illumination when the highway veered closer to the tracks. Trainride lit by stars. I want that feeling, like outside is water instead of air. A mental picture of running my fingers down the cool glass and watching it ripple. I’m older. Letters and words shining lightly into focus in the soft quiet of the car. Being sent a picture from around the globe and laughing quietly delighted to myself as it shines against the ocean of sunless ink. “Oh darling, you’re aging well. Italy is good for you, I’ll be seeing you soon.” The image shifts, turning into his reply and I lean forward in the red plush seat to examine the painting he’s working on now. It’s a girl, with type setting lines all over her body in old style Arial. Antiquidated and it meshes well with her blocky computer key fingernails. Lights off and riding in the dark. Lights off and I love you. Click.
Gods flashlight banging on the car windows of my eyes. “Excuse me miss, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Horrible. Woke upon a couch in New West with my brain clicking on with a sound like heated porcelain. *tingtick* Get up! You have to go to work now. There are better places to wake up than New West. I can think of twenty without trying. Under a bridge, perhaps. Least I didn’t sleep in my corset again. Caught by the rain, this princess was not going to slog home freezing and so I was, yet again, as always, one of the die-hards. Last to leave.
Marks of a good party may include having to borrow to change before bed, waking at someone else house, leaving in said clothes, (hopefully from as many people as possible), and getting home just in time for something else. Better parties also have berry waffles in the morning or pancakes, but with the amount of drinking geeks can get up to, I wasn’t expecting such. Jenn passed out in the night, as did Steve. I attempted to leave earlier with Aiden and Nicole, but weather said it wasn’t happening. They actually arrived slightly before I did. Took me twenty minutes to take the hill while laced in. I showed up dying and suddenly my LiveJournal was the topic of conversation. It was slightly disconcerting. New world order, self evident. We share this media and it is ours now. This artist, that script, this little piece of programmed code bleeding into our livingrooms with the glow of the computer screen. It makes me happy. Watch the war, upstage the so called news to spread our own.