A Broken Crow

early morning sun and heat just starting to prickle through. plans to see you.
my hands are clammy and there's a taste in my mouth like chocolate. like cotton candy. like christmas in july.

once i start i can't stop. i can't help myself.
like a moth to a flame, it's not desire. just disorientation.

i've got coffee grounds under my nails and i can't stop tugging my earlobe.
nervously.
nervously.
there's a taste in my mouth like salt. like sweat. like an old piece of driftwood.

have you heard the new buck 65 album yet?

the wet-vac may or may not be making any difference.
who has a snorkel??

yesterday was the day of floods.
two at work and one at home.
i arrived at work, only to be greeted by a broken fountain pop tank and two inches of water on my storage room floor. it was repaired and cleaned up by 8:30am. the espresso machine broke down and while i was fixing it, the store room flooded for a second time. motherfucker.
after my shift, i just needed to relax, eat some food and drink some beer.
i was kind of hoping that there would be no more flooding, you know?
iain, suzanne and i came home to my hot water tank erupting all over the carpet downstairs in my apartment. thick spurts of hot, rusty water. it covered the floor by the stairs and was halfway into my bedroom. it had probable been doing this for the better part of a day. motherfucker.
we called my landlord and located the shut off valve, but we still had to spend the next few hours tapdancing on towels.
carolle, you bastard.
by the time you get home, there will be a perfectly working new hot water tank.
all the water will be sucked out of the carpet somehow.
and all the towels i used will be clean and dry again.
all while you were camping.

give me two of each kind of beer and call me noah, bitch.

iain torn the skin of one of his hands wringing out wet terry cloth for hours.
and the man who replaced our tank today was having some sort of domestic dispute with his significant other on his cell phone. iain missed it both times. it was hilarious.

on a lighter note, tom's and pool at locas last night was fun stuff. we should make that a tradition. it's a good weekend kicker.

everything is wet.
snarf.

oh my. did i feel silly.
so unaware of everything and everyone.
i'll just hover here until the fist of realization hits me in the face.
and then i'll crawl under a nearby table.
or at least sit behind the fridge.
and laugh at myself, my face all hot and burny.

and of course there was you there to witness my awkwardness.
in the end, you looked rather silly yourself, now didn't you?
serving coffee and talking to yourself.
laughing at the invisible idiot.

i laughed all the way to tom's, swallowing huge gulps of coffee.
brett or brent? i still don't know. let's call him maurice.

my mom came back from new york and brought me italian jelly shoes! rad!
(i accidentally set my hair on fire last night. true story.)
it's thursday.
which means it's almost friday.
which means two days with you and no work.
my smile could rip my face in two.

suffice it to say that things are going well for me.
(except it's better than that. it's better than words. it's heart-screamy and finger-tingly and ice cream and puppies all the time.)

i keep twirling my new ring around and around my finger. i'm constantly watching the clock. ticking down the hours-minutes-seconds until i get to kiss you.

i spent my morning with james brown and blondie and johnny cash. i spent my afternoon with the white stripes and the caesars.
who do they sound like?
i dunno. themselves? a garage-rock/delta blues/slide guitar themselves?
zepplin. yeah. they sound like zepplin.(i'll admit to the robert plant-ish vocal stylings, but nothing else.)

bouncing around on my heels, sloshing the coffee everywhere. i sing at the top if my lungs and it makes some people smile, it makes others nervous. (does it make you nervous? to think of everything that has happened? a whirlwind of time and space and words and hands brushing my sides and the back of my neck.)

one of my regular customers has dubbed me "girl who likes cussing" because of my less-then-easy listening. he told me i was cute in a scary way. is that a compliment?

an hour? an hour and a half? mr. frog and i are waiting for you.
i want to sing. (for you.)

sunlight seeps through my curtains in a blue haze. ghostly and cold.
but my thoughts are warm.

that was a crazy weekend. birthday fun at tom's. martini glasses. spilly mcspilly pants. you know i really like you when you spill two glasses of wine on me and i still laugh. i laughed all the way home and fell over on your couch. saturday. breakfast, a barbeque and a show that broke all fire regulations. no room to move. barely room to sweat. the last night with the guy on the couch. the next day i ate licorice for breakfast. we walked hand in hand and went to see a movie about skateboarding. we really have to write in to dan savage about the practice of 'nibbing'.

i saw you at the bar and you were not the same. not how i remembered you.

i didn't see you at the bar. i miss you.

i had so much fun yesterday.
you two are awesome and you make me laugh.
manly wisps?? lets hang out more.

two days of sun and i feel like a different person. i sloughed off that layer soaked with rain and now i'm shiny and new.

i spent the evening with carolle and a case of beer and barry's ipod on random.
(blue lite: not actually all that bad. who knew?)

i tried to call you guys on shirley street a few times, but no one is ever there...or at least not answering the phone.

(i tried to call you yesterday, because we have not spoken in a few weeks. how are you? what did you do in the sunshine? how is the shit witch?)

one day. i've managed it.
did you laugh at 7th Heaven without me?