(this is annie)

the street hardly understands

Oh, I feel so terrible tonight, and the street hardly understands. I turn to the words of Shelley (Pete, not Percy) for that eternal question asked by the young, the idealistic, the foolhardy. It comforts me to some extent, but I suspect the relief will be temporary. Also, an amendment to the last unillustrative entry: I now know what I want, but the method of procurement remains a mystery. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a hot date with the voice of Ian Curtis.

johnny rotten

At 21 years of age, Johnny Rotten knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it. I'm three years older now than he was then, and I don't know either of those things. I think he was making it all up.

the rainbo

Tonight I walked the streets of Chicago during a month that felt like anything but January. My puffy down jacket, donned in anticipation of whipping winter winds, was ultimately too warm for the evening's mildness. I smelled the stink of early spring--not the pleasant, promising scent of flowers to come, but the thawing dog shit and dank odor that comes before it. Still, I ran up Wolcott as though today were the first day of Spring. I did it partly because I was late, but mostly because I could.

McFoxerson was working the door, and I remembered that it was almost exactly one year since we'd met. Sentimental sappiness made me want to mention this anniversary of acquaintance, but I didn't. I'm the sort of old-fashioned girl who remembers these silly details, but most people aren't, and that's okay. We talked about dentists, just like the old pals we someday might become.

Miles was waiting on a wooden curve, wearing his yellow scarf that I like so much. I told him a good secret because he's the person who I thought would enjoy it most. He did. At some point, I realized that we've known each other for seven years. The old are right: time does pass quickly.

The walk home was lonely.

At two in the morning, I will put on my pajamas to begin the tedious process of fighting insomnia. Since Christmas, I've had only two good nights of sleep. The others have been filled with wide-open eyes and tossing and turning and confusion. When I do manage to sleep, the dreams are anxious: social nightmares of my deepest emotional fears. I'll try for something different tonight. Again.


say hello

    it's anniet at gmail.


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