August 6, 2002
Cold Pizza and Apple Juice
I am eating cold pizza. I fear that it is corrupting the lovely taste Mike left in my mouth, but my hunger will not allow me to go to bed without having first consumed something.
And, ladies and gentleman, it is too late for ramen noodles.
Tonight Mike and I rented Muppets in Space. Allow me to further exacerbate my love for Pepe the Prawn. It is simply impossible for him to be any cuter than he already is. Everytime he spoke Mike and I couldn't keep from laughing.
Er, giggling, on my part.
Exacerbate--Ex*ac"er*bate, v. t. [imp. & p. p. Exacerrated; p. pr. & vb. n. Exacerrating.] [L. exacerbatus, p. p. of exacerbare; ex out (intens.) + acerbare. See Acerbate.] To render more violent or bitter; to irriate; to exasperate; to imbitter, as passions or disease.
I suppose that wasn't the best choice of words, but fuck me, I wanted to use it. I have to think outside of the institution. America is, after all, the land of free thought.
Supposedly.
What amuses me is that the government really only tolerates free thought when it doesn't interfer with them. Publishing that become a little too sharp politically will vanish, but Jerry Springer will never go off of the air.
Today I bought all sorts of fun toiletries. Body wash, shampoo, and conditioner, all scented of Sun-Ripened Raspberry. Q-tips. Tissues. Fuzzy blue washclothes and a purple loofa.
Tampons! Two boxes for seven dollars! What a steal!
I love my Kroger Plus Card.
I also bought three spiral bound notebooks. The notebook is sort of my non-secret passion. I love them. There is no cheaper way to amuse me most utterly than a blank sheet of paper and a pen. If it's filled with gel ink, you've got me set for a good month and a half.
I realize that I am starting to disgust everyone, and most especially myself, seeing as I talk about Mike, O, ninety-five percent of the time, so if you just ate some bad cheese or if you're naturally weak stomached, cease reading. Go play some Tetris.
At any rate. Must mention him, must mention things. For sake of prosperity, of course, and not because I enjoy reliving every beautiful moment in prose. Who, me? Sentimental?
Pshaw.
At any rate. A different rate.
My mouth was dry. We were laying in his bed, and one of my ears was pressed against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat coursed through my body.
I kept licking my lips, kept swallowing. Opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. Could I say it? Would I say it? And what would he say?
"I think," a beat, "that I", swallow, "am falling in love with you. Does that scare you?"
I can see his face, outlined all fuzzy white and dark. His fingers do not cease their rummaging through my hair.
"No. Because the same thing is happening to me."
I sighed, softly, and snuggled closer to him.
"Good."
astera at 12:51 a.m.