So...toook a little road trip to see my babay. Spent too much time in Tenessee, drinking whiskey milkshakes, and got sidetracked into suburban Atlanta, so I had to make up some time. I could feel something in me feeling closer. Nashville was a goddamn tease, everywhere and everything I wanna see and do with her--ribs, beer, screamin country guitars and dig-deep voices in every bar on the strip. I was a madman on the road that night, cruising at 110 for long periods. We were tearing through tanks of gas and I was wishing I could burn out that gaseous shit in my chest, the pressure--so close, and yet, still 6 hours away. 6 HOurs! Picked up a speeding ticket in Moultrie, Georgia. When I got into Tallahassee, it was like entering some hazy dream world from a distant past. It was like 1:30 Am; the roads were empty and everything was dark and King-of Prussia-like in its four-lane majesty. The emotional twinge was subdued a bit by the lack of sleep and the ridiculous amount of vitamins I had been ingesting to combat it, but still. THese were the roads I rode around on with her! HOnda aCCORD, sunroof open, sitting at stop lights kissing or just looking at each other, so that people were always honking at us to go! when the light unknowingly turned green. Everything was so damn dark now. I expected her to be sitting in her room at the front of the house, and tapped the window with one fingernail. Then I saw through the blinds that she wasn't in there. I called her, said come to the front door, whisper/screamed WE're Here! She jumped into my arms. It took me a while to really realize what the fuck was going on. We walked to the car, she met Tony and Micki, brought our stuff in, laid on the bed. Tony read "bloody fingers" from the scary story book. selfishly, I didn't wanna hear scary stories or fuckin talk or be around anyone but her, just look at her, take her in, in all her reality. We slept in her bed together, against her mother's wishes.
Talking to her earlier tonight, I got into some bullshit again. I get to feeling sorry for myself, here in the city, in the cold, trying to feel purposeful among many sources of self-loathing. I have this perfect image in my head, of her driving my car in the morning sunshine, and it alone is almost enough to keep me going for five more weeks.
We were in Virginia, coming back, tangled in a net of airbases and superdevelopments, more traffic on 95 than any other part of the trip, and we had put on Mother's Milk (Red Hot Chili Peppers). "Aeroplane" came on. It's one of those songs.
"I like pleasure spiked with pain and music is my aeroplane...pleasure spiked with pain-- that motha fucker's always spiked with pain." I sang this out, sure to get that little pause between the motha and the fucker, cool out the words. Why did I do this? Of course, it's a cool part of the song, BA even, but what gave me the urge to vocalize this one lyric? I was in pain. The color had been gradually draining from everything. In Florida the fields were green and the cows were a rich brown. By North Carolina, 95 was like a concrete trail through a world made of concrete, with drab, sidewalk chalk coloring. It was like riding an amusement park ride through the next stages of global warming and pollution--trees withered and lost their leaves, not to mention the cows, who were now laying on their sides. By Virginia, the sun was hiding down by the horizon, trying to creep in between some gnarly tree branches. Fuck you, sun, I thought. You do a half-ass job all winter, too scared to come down between the buildings for even a peep into my moratorium-lit apartment.
Oh, she is the sun. She was born and has spent every year of her life in the Sunshine state. The words 'sunny disposition' took meaning in my mind when I met her, almost 3 years ago.
Maybe I should go tanning. Vitamin D deficiency, anyone? Eskimos. It happens.
Her doctor has her take 2 vitamin D a day, among others. For the [post]mono, but still.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
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