Animal Hospital - A Safe Place

Be patient.  Wait for for 03:22.

No skipping.

 

So just a couple minutes ago, I woke up to hear R screaming at J in the kitchen for removing her pot of spaghetti to light his cigarette on the electric stove top.

You see, what he did interfered with her tight schedule (she was in a hurry), slowing down the boiling process of the pasta.  

...Of course misusing the stove and smoking in the apartment would be beside the point.

::smiles wryly::

Giselle Rosselli - They Stay Down Deep

What's that you pressed against your lips,
some sailored words on conjured ships.

Leaves lie discarded against the cold concrete, withering to dirt, as their owners proudly display their bare branches, newly studded with rain drops from the night before.

Titling your head a little, you watch as they glitter against the grey sky.

On a more random note, I would like to say that I have utter faith in Mrs. Piggle Wiggle's methods for reforming children. 

Provided that I have any in the future--as the prospect of reproducing is still terrifying to me at the tender age of twenty (I am still quite very young, you see)--I will be sure to use her as a source of inspiration and a guide for success.

So lately I've taken to drinking coffee (not black) in times of distress.

(Curiously enough, my caffeinated comfort drink makes me sleepy--I'm still trying to figure out how that can be.)

I like savoring the bitter sweet taste in my mouth as I brood in my little corner of the room, buried beneath my heavy blankets, completely distracted from the textbooks that often lie open on my lap, pages unread.   

On the down side, it makes one's breath smell foul.

Well.  I suppose that's not necessarily a bad thing if you don't want people to talk to you--after all, brooding is a solitary activity.  Occasionally I feel like sticking a "Do Not Disturb" sign on my forehead because my housemates can be rather dense at times.

It was an unpleasant phone call, not one that we should have been having three weeks before he was leaving for half a year, and one day before coming up to Davis to stay for the rest of the week.

I've reached a new low, hiding in J's closet so that R wouldn't hear me cry.  But then again, even if I was more open about my raw displays of emotion, I don't think she would have noticed anyway--she's far too absorbed in her own trivialities to pay any attention to mine, much to my relief. 

It's a bit strange to be sitting on the toilet seat with your head pressed against the wall, wearing a mud mask that's dried your face into a perpetual expression of misery.

The burning sensation that indicates deep cleaning is somewhat of a comfort. 

However, I do realize that revitalizing your skin in such a way that exacerbates the despondency of what you're feeling during these melancholy moments isn't one of the best things to do, especially when someone else may want to use the bathroom that you've so selfishly holed yourself up in for the past half hour going cross-eyed staring at your feet. 

It happens to the best of us.

I picked up a pack of J' Marlboro cigarettes lying on his desk today and smelled it.

It had the slight odor of tea leaves.

For a brief moment, I considered unraveling a stick to make a cup of tea--just to see how it would turn out.

...

Erin McCarley - Pony (It's OK)

You're fifteen miles over the speed

You're going fast as you can after your daydream

On your mark get set, you hurry away

And have a serious talk with your champagne

Since E's been gone, I've been filling up my time by holing myself up in my own bedroom, being quiet. 

Funny how fast things can change, how unexpected life can be--it's nothing new.  Yet, it always comes as a surprise when it happens. 

I used to spend my days aimlessly chattering for hours on end with him during odd times, perched on the edge of his queen-size with his stuffed bear on my lap, pressed against my chest, my chin resting comfortably on his head.  The beauty of it was that I never remembered our conversations afterward--the topics themselves didn't quite matter, but the moments shared between them did. 

I remember one night I sat in the corner of his room, sipping a glass of wine and reading a textbook under the dim yellow light.  I tapped on the glass to keep tempo for him, while he furiously pounded on the keys of the piano, frustrated with the song he was playing.  I had to reread the chapters when I went back up, because I was so immersed in the music.  

Those days are over now.  His appeal didn't go through--apparently he's had a consistent record of maintaining a ridiculously low GPA.  He'll return from academic dismissal next Spring, provided that everything goes according to plan. 

When he first told me, it was such a blow.  We were in the kitchen, and I had just put on the kettle.  We sat down, and I made us both a cup of tea while we talked about it.  There were no tears.  After all, we never did blatantly show that we cared about each other, even though we obviously did.  Some days were more apparent than others. 

He was the only one that ever cleaned the kitchen with me.  If I cooked or baked, he would come out and at least keep me company, if not help.  He would indirectly tell me that he missed me by sending me texts late into the day, asking why it was so quiet in his room--how it was strange that no one had burst through his door yet to bother him.  Whenever I was unhappy, he would be there and try to make me feel better in little ways.  He didn't always know why I was upset, but when he did, he never offered any solutions--he just listened.  Then I would change the subject and that would be that. 

I had always thought to myself, well, when M leaves for Shanghai, at least I would have E to turn to--they both had similar qualities.  It's ironic how he ended up leaving me before M did.  He was the only other sane and logical person in this house who could take care of himself and other people.  Now I'm left alone to run the ship.  I've already accepted the fact that I'm also going to be the only one to clean it too, but that's not important. 

When I talked about all of this with M, he told me to find a new friend. 

Bah.

Toploader - Dancing in the Moonlight

We like our fun and we never fight

You can't dance and stay uptight

It's a supernatural delight

Everybody was dancing in the moonlight

M:  Homeee.  Sleep well princess.  I love how you make me know that you love me, I wanted you to know that I love you just as much.  We're married btw.  You said yes today.  

I bought a box of dozen cupcakes today all for myself.

Maybe that's why I choked on a sprinkle. 

There has been some sort of cosmic intervention, and I'm being punished for not sharing.

When I'm unhappy, I'm not going to shorten what I have to say for whatever reason because feelings aren't concise.  They are impulsive; sometimes hard to define.  And very often, the problems that cause these feelings don't come in neat little packages.  That's why stories can be so long.

People need to talk even if it doesn't solve their problems--even if there is no solution to their problem--because it is a release from tension.  Just let them wander.  Have patience. These are the moments they put all their trust in you, when they need you the most.  These are the sensitive moments. 

Rob Thomas - Little Wonders

Our lives are made in these small hours
These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours still remain

Dear Martin,

Today I scrubbed the entire bathtub--ok, well at least the edges and all visible signs of rust and mold--for about half an hour while taking a shower.

With a toothbrush. (I didn't have a sponge.)  

In these past couple of days I have also restrained from opening my giant bottle of Orangina, so that we can have something bubbly to drink while we watch Despicable Me when you stay over on Thursday night with your sister.  Thus, I've been reduced to drinking R's Fanta during my midnight cravings, which turns the color of my tongue an unnaturally bright orange.  Yuck. 

The things I do for you. 
 
Love,
Chantal

P.S.
I have stolen E's shoe for sabotaging my Hot Pocket and for purposely locking me out while I was taking out the garbage--he may not reserve a spot in guest parking for you now because of this.

 P.P.S
I regret nothing.  But I have given them back after careful consideration.

Priscilla Ahn - The Boob Song

Now I do not want to be that girl
that cries at every turn.
But I can't ignore the hurt
that makes me burn.

So please do be patient with me,
I know I can have a bit of jealousy.
But I promise you, I'll make it up to you in return. 

So baby, baby would you read a poem I picked for you?

Would you think of me and not some other girl's boobs?

Now what am I to do, when I feel so much love for you?

I wish that I could be stronger but I get scared 

that my love will not do.

Yeah, I get scared that my love will not do.

Dear Martin,

All that remain of the autumn colors once seen clinging on the branches of the many trees surrounding campus can now only be found on the heads of my Caucasian classmates; though, the spectrum of hair colors are somewhat  of a dull comparison to the brilliant, ephemeral shades of nature that existed before. 

When I came out today and found the grass frosted over, each blade coated with a delicate layer of ice, I couldn't help but laugh.  It still strikes me funny as to how the sun can be out, yet I can see my breath hang in the air.

You never quite realize how far your breath travels until it's visible in cold weather.  It puts things in perspective when you're interacting with other people--when you breathe out, I'm breathing you in, vice versa; there's a peculiar sense of intimacy formed in making this rather morbid connection.  It makes me a little more understanding when someone takes a step back upon discovering that you're sick. 

E still walks around in shorts, which means the weather's actually "not that bad yet."  I've been lead to believe that some time in the near future, the rain is going to freeze into a shower of needle-sharp crystals that will strike me dead one morning while I wait for the bus--apparently the cold doesn't peak until mid January to the end of February.

Curse this godforsaken school. 

So while I was contemplating my wardrobe in preparation for the hard times ahead, I was almost run over by not one, but two bikes at the round-a-bout.  Yes, like you've always said, I need to pay more attention to my immediate surroundings. 

Love,
Chantal

I plod to school day after day with my heavy book bag, imagining myself as a dedicated and mighty runt of a scholar on the journey for the quest of knowledge--only to reach my classes cold and exhausted, promptly falling into deep sleep once lectures commence. 

I really need to start taking the bus more.

Greg Laswell - Comes And Goes (In Waves)

 

This is for the ones who stand
For the ones who try again
For the ones who need a hand
For the ones who think they can

Dear Martin,

By the time you read this, it will be too late to reprimand me.

Yesterday I almost burned down the house--the fire alarm actually went off.  Luckily, R happened to come home in time to save the day, blowing out my candle before anything actually caught on fire.  I came into the room to find a part of my desk shelf scorched black and the face of my alarm clock melted off.  (Note to self:  Remember, just because an object doesn't physically touch a flame doesn't mean it won't burn.  You learned this in chemistry.)  Now our room smells like a bonfire. 

As usual, we had a good laugh over it--we always do when bad things happen.  But I guess that's probably not a good habit; it kind of implies that we don't understand the gravity of the situation.    

Anyways, the important thing is, I learned not to leave a candle unattended.  Ever.  Especially if there's something above it. 

Love,
Chantal

Dear Martin,

I'm trying to figure out how the city can be frozen over while the sun still shines ever so brightly against an impossibly clear blue sky.  Davis weather is bipolar.  If the cold doesn't kill me, the sheer weight of what I'm wearing will.  Lately I've taken to wrapping myself in six layers of clothing.  When I walk to class, I have to cradle my face in my hands to keep it from freezing into a permanent expression of misery.

I'm beginning to look like a depressed chunky kid.

I need you here to hold my hand--well actually, all of me in general.

Love,
Chantal

Vienna Teng - Pencil Sketch

 Oh sometimes when you look at me
I can see that far
And then the colors blur
The lines smudge
Oh, I’ll play it cool for now
And time will be the judge
There’s no hurry
It’s just a pencil sketch of us.