December 5, 2002
Shadow
I'm sore all over today. I wish I had a comfortable home to go to.
I rearranged my half-room to no avail. There is no furniture to move. There are only pictures to be taken down and put back up, brightly patterned scarves to be rotated between dresser and milk crate shelves. I put Mike's picture in a frame and could only think of the shit my mother would give me for doing so.
I bought chapstick.
I am certain that there is something wrong with me. Be I getting a cold or a worry, or both, I am feeling like my three week vacation cannot come soon enough. If I hear one more pointless lecture I am going to scream. If I hear one more scream in the hallway at twelve o'clock at night I am going to cry. If I start crying again, his arms better be close enough to comfort me.
In his room, on his dresser, there is a lamp. Next to the lamp is a cup full of pens and on top of that cup is a small plastic Dexter. Next to that, in a plastic frame, is this picture of me. Into the frame he has inserted the fortune of a fortune cookie from one of our many trips to the Phan Shin uptown.
It says, You are unique and creative.
So, you know, I think that's love.
astera at 12:45 a.m.