Famished and unenthused.
I swear my stomach had literally spoke out loud to me. Its message was simple; teriyaki. After hitching a ride across the bridge, walking through a densely populated bus stop in the rain, I had arrived. A bell rang as I shuffled through the door. Music was playing in Japanese. Just over the counter the two cooks, and the cashier stared at me blankly. I was the only one there, and I could tell they were as excited to be there as I was.
I sat down after ordering to notice the following things: the floor was cold on my feet, the table was cold on my forearms, the tea was hot on my throat, I was still hungry, and now uncomfortable. Today was as bland as the weather; cold, grey and I spent most of it trying to be as literate as possible. I sat reading an article that didn't interest me in the slightest. In fact, I'm not even sure I know what the article was about. I started reading it from the middle. Placing the folded paper on the table, I slouched down and relaxed in my chair. My phone buzzed. I felt it through my cold forearm. I looked down. My low level of enthusiasm influenced the speed in which I checked it. To my surprise I found...
[insert name here]
Tiny, tingly, tightly packed bubbles started at my toes. At first I don't react, I'm having trouble accepting the bubbles are even there. Up my calves. Over my knees. My stomach turned a bit. It turned in the good way, the way that forcibly straightens you up in your chair. Bubbles up my chest. My heart fluttered. My face was red from heat. The bubbles had reached my brain, and I understood. She asked If I was willing to stay up late tonight. I could do nothing but adjust the unenthusiastic posture of my cheeks, and smile.
Plans for the evening.
2.25.2010
2.24.2010
003 Rain Clouds
Wednesday.
I was sitting securely between two wooden armrests directly in front of a large window. Coffee in hand, book in lap.
Outside, the air was cold. It was windy and the sun had dipped behind a low overcast. It seems the weather was reacting to the same midweek slump as I. The sky is my mood ring, I thought to myself. Determined to make this new thought audible, I awkwardly told the woman next to me that 'the sky is my mood ring'. She didn't understand and with a blank face, stared at my crooked glasses.
Minutes later a girl sat down across from me.
I adjusted my posture. I thought this would make me look more regal and mysterious. Luckily I sat by the window which raised my confidence. I always feel my skin looks better under rain clouds.
She was freckled, dark skinned, with a fedora angled slightly against the light coming in through the window. Her face was half hidden under her dark strawberry blond hair. She was wearing eight rings and had two knuckle tattoos. She was quite cute.
She looked up at me, and with an honestly concerned smile said 'your glasses are crooked'. I knew this of course. It was merely a test to see how long it would take for someone to say something. I began thinking that I wish humans could interact more openly without becoming awkward. The woman next to me was awkward, the cute girl was not. I hate it when people are so completely consumed by their awkward nature and reserved attitude toward others that they nearly cease to exist in society. I then responded by telling her my ears were, in fact, crooked. She squinted her eyes, frowned a bit, her brow raised, and she leaned her upper half to the right to get a better look. I was being examined. Realizing I should be compliant to her curiosity, I turned to help her better audit of my face. I turned to the right. I turned back to the left. I looked straight at her. I turned back to the right. Silence. I assumed that this would have satisfied her curiosity for the fictionalized fun-fact I had conjured about my crooked ears.
On the contrary.
She proceeded to take both of her highly-accesorized hands and place them on both sides of my face, just above my ears. I was no longer in control of the examination. I felt a bit awkward. I am a hypocrite.
I was now experiencing the polar opposite of my original complaint.
I digress.
I was sitting securely between two wooden armrests directly in front of a large window. Coffee in hand, book in lap.
Outside, the air was cold. It was windy and the sun had dipped behind a low overcast. It seems the weather was reacting to the same midweek slump as I. The sky is my mood ring, I thought to myself. Determined to make this new thought audible, I awkwardly told the woman next to me that 'the sky is my mood ring'. She didn't understand and with a blank face, stared at my crooked glasses.
Minutes later a girl sat down across from me.
I adjusted my posture. I thought this would make me look more regal and mysterious. Luckily I sat by the window which raised my confidence. I always feel my skin looks better under rain clouds.
She was freckled, dark skinned, with a fedora angled slightly against the light coming in through the window. Her face was half hidden under her dark strawberry blond hair. She was wearing eight rings and had two knuckle tattoos. She was quite cute.
She looked up at me, and with an honestly concerned smile said 'your glasses are crooked'. I knew this of course. It was merely a test to see how long it would take for someone to say something. I began thinking that I wish humans could interact more openly without becoming awkward. The woman next to me was awkward, the cute girl was not. I hate it when people are so completely consumed by their awkward nature and reserved attitude toward others that they nearly cease to exist in society. I then responded by telling her my ears were, in fact, crooked. She squinted her eyes, frowned a bit, her brow raised, and she leaned her upper half to the right to get a better look. I was being examined. Realizing I should be compliant to her curiosity, I turned to help her better audit of my face. I turned to the right. I turned back to the left. I looked straight at her. I turned back to the right. Silence. I assumed that this would have satisfied her curiosity for the fictionalized fun-fact I had conjured about my crooked ears.
On the contrary.
She proceeded to take both of her highly-accesorized hands and place them on both sides of my face, just above my ears. I was no longer in control of the examination. I felt a bit awkward. I am a hypocrite.
I was now experiencing the polar opposite of my original complaint.
I digress.
2.23.2010
002 Dystopia
[Out of bed in 1.63 seconds!]
10 minutes, 1.63 seconds ago I was in some sort of dystopia. I had caused mass-riots and total hysteria by revealing to the public that the clouds in the sky were fake. The sky was orange, the streets were lit, and thousands stood below me. I then leapt from the building I was atop of to find myself in a bass heavy, neon-lit, drug overdoes club.
I found Wendy tucked away from the chaos, and sitting on a red love seat in the corner. Her hair was black, her lips were red, and her face was slightly hidden under the black vail from her hat. She was crying.
So noir.
I cuddled up to her and we shared a cigarette. then I began-
[Out of bed in 1.63 seconds and face first into my desk!]
I sat on the floor with my face in my right hand. My left ear was buried into the carpet that smelt of my feet. I needed to vacuum today. My eyes were still closed. All I could see were red lips, and I swore I could still taste that cigarette.
10 minutes, 1.63 seconds ago I was in some sort of dystopia. I had caused mass-riots and total hysteria by revealing to the public that the clouds in the sky were fake. The sky was orange, the streets were lit, and thousands stood below me. I then leapt from the building I was atop of to find myself in a bass heavy, neon-lit, drug overdoes club.
I found Wendy tucked away from the chaos, and sitting on a red love seat in the corner. Her hair was black, her lips were red, and her face was slightly hidden under the black vail from her hat. She was crying.
So noir.
I cuddled up to her and we shared a cigarette. then I began-
[Out of bed in 1.63 seconds and face first into my desk!]
I sat on the floor with my face in my right hand. My left ear was buried into the carpet that smelt of my feet. I needed to vacuum today. My eyes were still closed. All I could see were red lips, and I swore I could still taste that cigarette.
2.22.2010
001 Ergonomics
I waited.
Sitting uncomfortably, numb, shaky from too much coffee.
My center of gravity was somewhere near the edge of a wooden park bench. I was people watching in the sun. The air was cold, but it was contrasted beautifully with rays of heat breaking occasionally through the trees.
Spring in February, I thought this strange, as I hope most other people do. It is somehow more exciting than usual.
I looked down to noticed that a moment ago, when I had spit at the ground, I had spit on my shoes. I shook it off. A poorly groomed poodle, tied to the same bench in which I was sitting, licked it up. Why is it that dogs can eat, drink, lick, put anything in their mouths without getting sick? In instances like this, I feel that our pampered, over medicated, anti-bacterial, anti-boitic, take-a-sick-day-for-a-headache lifestyle does nothing but push us several steps backwards through evolution.
She arrived.
My back began to ache. I noticed I was slouching heavily. I now want to know why park benches have such poor ergonomic design. She pointed out that saying the word 'ergonomic' makes you sound as if you have yogurt in your throat.
I agreed.
Sitting uncomfortably, numb, shaky from too much coffee.
My center of gravity was somewhere near the edge of a wooden park bench. I was people watching in the sun. The air was cold, but it was contrasted beautifully with rays of heat breaking occasionally through the trees.
Spring in February, I thought this strange, as I hope most other people do. It is somehow more exciting than usual.
I looked down to noticed that a moment ago, when I had spit at the ground, I had spit on my shoes. I shook it off. A poorly groomed poodle, tied to the same bench in which I was sitting, licked it up. Why is it that dogs can eat, drink, lick, put anything in their mouths without getting sick? In instances like this, I feel that our pampered, over medicated, anti-bacterial, anti-boitic, take-a-sick-day-for-a-headache lifestyle does nothing but push us several steps backwards through evolution.
She arrived.
My back began to ache. I noticed I was slouching heavily. I now want to know why park benches have such poor ergonomic design. She pointed out that saying the word 'ergonomic' makes you sound as if you have yogurt in your throat.
I agreed.
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