last glass...dusty buckets...parched e-lips...sponge...drip...drop

2002-11-15 - 1:42 p.m.: apple cider


That line from that song (you know the one?):

"I am invincible... as long as I'm alive"

I don't know why, but no matter how many times I hear it on the radio (which has ruined SO many songs), it jolts me. It recalls a sparkle to my eye and color to my cheeks and makes my shoulders feel like wings.

It's hard to keep in mind how much freedom we actually do have when there are false limitations and absurd expectations imposed on us from all sides. It's like feeling trapped in a room with curtains for walls...


Practiced ultimate last night from 9 to 11 in freezing rain... it was miserably exhilerating. By the time I jogged home and took a shower, it had turned to snow--our first of the year. Jasper and Oliver, being so young, had never seen snow before, so we let them out on the roof to play. There were still dead leaves scattered about, all crisp and frosted with ice crystals like sugar. Jasper collected a bunch of them in his mouth and dragged them back inside... his very own Snowmouse. I think he was surprised when they melted, at once, into ordinary leaves. He didn't say.

At this point I should've gone to bed. But no... a bunch of people were heading out to a party hosted by somebody who was somebody's friend whose roommate knew Brian. Lush concocted some insane (read bittersweetsyrup) alcohol/kool-aide/soda drink to keep us warm as we walked over (I think I would've preferred hot chocolate)... and we arrived. We were about half of the party... the louder half... and I felt a little bad. They were playing vinyls in one room, 8-tracks in the other, and it should've been a very mellow, wooze-inducing, hazy smoke-ring gathering. I think we ruined it.

Not we in particular, but we in general.

I love parties and hate them at the same time. I can blend in, feel invisible and observe the goings-on from a detached, sympathetic perspective. I can listen to loud, heart-pounding music without offending anyone. I can feel pretty. But there's something very alienating about it, too. Something that forces me to look at surfaces instead of souls, to see chemistry instead of connections. People just seem very put-on and made-up. Maybe they're hiding behind the same sort of window that I look through... trying to catch the flavor of everything without looking vulnerable... without gulping. I'd like to think that. It would be hard to accept that 70% of the people I see in a day (or a night) aren't real.