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Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005
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2:22a - You showed me just what I could do.
I have a strange request. Does anyone have any recipes they'd be willing to share with me? I'm specifically looking for things to bake. I'd prefer breads and other non-dessert items.
I'm feeling especially hopeful tonight. Kristin told me over the weekend that even though she reminds herself no one marries their first love, she thinks she could. I want to bake for her. I want a kitchen, splashes of flour. I want to have food that I've made sitting in a bowl on the counter or on the table. I want to say, Here, taste this- with a grin and a furrowed brow.
Drove home today after staying two extra nights. I called Mrs. Martinez back and we talked for forty-five minutes. She reminds me of Piper in a lot of ways. Which amuses and pleases me because I used to talk to a girl who would be about 23 now - thinking back to her, I am reminded again of Piper. All three of them are thoughtful, a little removed from society, hugely wise and funny. I think that means we are meant to be friends.
I listened to Aimee Mann for the length of the drive. Just sad and literate enough. I adjusted the volume until the car and the hollow of my throat trembled. One of the songs - I think it's Invisible Ink - has an acoustic guitar backed by simple strings. I sang so loudly and earnestly that my eyes stung and my lashes clung together.
Say you were split, you were split in fragments
and none of the pieces would talk to you.
Wouldn't you want to be who you had been?
Well, baby I want that, too.
Thought of Kristin the entire way home.
The way on Sunday, when I'd already been there for an extra day, she started brainstorming reasons I could stay another night. She said, I'm so sad - sad meaning pathetic. I stroked her hair and thought. Then I stood up and called my mom. I knew today was a free day - the schools were off, so no counselors or teachers were going to be calling me. After I called my mom, Kristin and I cuddled some more. Every few minutes, she would look at me, smiling with her eyes lit up. All because I'd stayed. I told her I stayed for that smile and she kissed the side of my head. Who spoils who? she asked.
The way we went to dinner with another couple, two of Kristin's friends, Saturday night. The four of us took Kristin's car. We were going to go to Applebee's, but the restaurant was too full. Kristin had me drive then. She's self-conscious as a driver. I'm quick with directions. She says she likes the way we hold hands while I drive. Ended up at Steak 'n Shake and then we went to Wal-Mart because Ana-Rae's girlfriend wanted to get some fish. Kristin held my hand. It seems like such a small thing, but holding my hand in public? It makes me feel completely loved.
The way we woke up for breakfast this morning - my pancakes, her ham, egg and cheese sandwich - and then went back to sleep. We woke up and it was almost time for me to leave. I swung my legs over her hips, hovered above her. Touched her stomach under her shirt, kissed and cuddled her. She ran her hands over my back, shoulders, breasts and stomach. I'm sorry it took me so long to get used to touching you, she said. I don't know what I said in response. I sighed happily. She fingered the stretch marks on my hips and smiled, said, I like the way these feel.
The way we were both moody. She asked me a question, during one of her moods. I don't remember what. My answer was - Because I love you. I want you. She asked me why I had to make it so difficult. Another time, a couple of other times, I cried. I was PMSing. Had trouble sleeping and I was restless. She talked to me for hours. We giggled and swore. Went for food at midnight. She called the chicken sandwich her best friend and I pouted.
The way she read to me, the way I watched her do her homework.
The way she let me write song lyrics on her stomach.
Beth Orton, Ted's Waltz.
See the way you are feel the way you move
so deep, so cool
you burn through it all
it's the shape of your hand
a tone I understand and since I first met you I found the love I lost
it looks just like you
The Cranberries, When You're Gone.
And in the day, everything's complex;
There's nothing simple when I'm not around you.
Sixpence None the Richer, Still Burning.
you are still burning
the flame that is turning
my smoldering ash into a bird
Jude, I Know.
You've got such a pretty smile
It's a shame the things you hide behind it.
My mom really, really likes Kristin. I imagine it's scary for a parent when their children fall in love. Not only the fear that the child will be hurt - but the fear that he/she won't be hurt. For a parent, their child's romantic love must be the most frightening thing - what else has the power to remove them so? I like that my mother is so open to Kristin so far. I hope it stays that way. Kristin's sister mentioned bringing me with their family to Branson. She giggled over it all weekend. I'm excited too. I wonder when I'll meet them.
I pulled a muscle in my arm or something. It hurts terribly. I've been taking four ibuprofen every couple of hours, which dulls the pain but never really removes it. I wish I could figure out what I did to my arm. The pain is very close to my left shoulder and toward the front of my body. When I move in certain ways, pain shoots down the length of my arm. The bones in that arm are also aching. My mom said I can see the doctor in a few days.
( ATTN: HANNAH )
( ATTN: MY FRIENDS AT SCHOOL )
( ATTN: AUTHORITY FIGURES CURRENTLY LURKING )
current mood: content
current music: Secret Smile -- Semisonic (3 comments |comment on this)
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4:39p
As requested by Kristin, a picture of my mother, my sister and I in matching outfits. From 2003.
(15 comments |comment on this)
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9:09p
Saint Etienne makes me want to fuck things.
...Okay, so maybe it's the bleeding that makes me want to fuck things. But listening to the full-length version of We're In The City doesn't help matters any.
In the city your footsteps float in the air.
In the city at night, there's no one else there.
In the city see all the old street lamps again.
In the city they took all the new ones away.
Sarah Cracknell's voice. So breathy. So clear. The music is so sharp and invasive and sweet.
You wind down a window to let in some light
through the middle of glossing billboards at night.
And pausing to catch your breath in the rain,
in the city you're home again, again.
I just want to be touched, fuck. My body's so greedy. Saturday afternoon, Kristin was touching me. I came. Keep fucking me, I told her. She did. I came again around her fingers. Keep fucking me. I said it again. She touched me and I burst into tears. She was above me and she looked concerned. I curled my arms around her neck and pulled her down, slid my mouth against her throat. I bit. Keep fucking me, I said through my tears. And she did - through three orgasms and two more later that night.
I don't know why I can be so needy. It's not even sex. I just need to be touched. I could spend my life with Kristin's hands in my hair or running over my back.
It's constant. The want, the need. Constant. But stronger now, when I'm bleeding. I get pushier. Louder about what I want, louder about liking what I get. If I ever have any inhibitions, I abandon them for the week. There is no embarrassment or shyness, just lingering ache and attempted fulfillment.
current mood: lusting
current music: We're In The City -- Saint Etienne (16 comments |comment on this)
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