seethingblue's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- when I come home The smell and texture of ginger stays on my hands through out the day. I tried to write you a letter but it came out as a poem, a bad one I tucked between two books on the shelf. I watch couples with infants struggle to eat their meals. I see men come in with women who are not their wives. The cooks in the back ask me, "Tienes tu un novio?" I answer back: "No, no. No tengo un novio. How do you say? Too many problems I don't need." They nod and laugh. I'm growing sick of the taste of eggrolls. I come home with back problems. "Did you know Jake and Kirsten broke up?" my sister asks immediately. She is wearing red chandelier earrings and has done fake french tips on her nails. I get confused, think Jake and Kirsten are someone I should know or remember. Then I remember. They are movie stars who drive Toyota Hybrids to save the environment. They give each other designer things and go to premieres to validate their happiness to reporters. "No, I didn't know that. Too bad." I could care less. "Yes," she goes on, "and Mary-Kate is coming home soon." How funny, I think, we talk about these people like they are distant cousins or neighbors. I'm growing sick of the taste of summer, especially July. I prefer eating ice cream in cold weather. I have always been peculiar that way. I like heavy coats more than flip flops. People tell me, "Oh, live up north through one winter then tell me you like the cold." I explain that I don't like the cold as much as I hate the heat. But I love winter. If winter was hot, maybe I would still love it. It carries more than weather in its pockets. It is everything else in the distance. 18:15 - 21 July, 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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