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| Suddenly, all I can think about are all the things I don't know about him. All the things I never had time to learn. I don't know if his feet are ticklish or how long his toes are. I don't know what nightmares he had as a child. I don't know which stars are his favorites, what shapes he sees in the clouds. I don't know what he is truly afraid of or what memories he holds closest.
And I don't have enough time now, never enough time. I want to be in the moment with him, feel his body against mine and think of nothing else, but my mind explodes with grief for all that I am missing. All that I will miss. All that I have wasted.
-cr
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| RIT allows for a five quarter leave, without explanation. I, somehow, have managed to get away with a 9 quarter leave. This brightens my day tenfold because it means I don't have to reapply and explains why i've still been getting mail from them.
this is my major: http://www.rit.edu/cla/sociology/international/
now ask me why. Simple. it offers a study abroad program.
not to mention i am a culture nut. here is the downside to all of this;
it means i am stuck here.
here in this graffiti, litter building city for the next four years. True.
I could've gone last year (circumstance got the better of me this year)
but last year i was a business major and while in theory I should've stayed...
[[i want to open my own coffee house]]
I hate business.
now ask me what i plan on doing with my life.
writing
now ask me how i plan on paying my bills.
no fucking idea.
but there is no point in standing still anymore. I have to start reaching for something.
a friend of mine, Ms. Black, recently said poets are useless people.
and i recently told her i enjoy my uselessness and my bubble but that
is a lie. that is where my instability comes from.
I just don't like not being good at anything.
i don't like that i have friends who are going to
Duke and Berkley and Cornell who have dreams for their future.
i'll be twenty and i can't see myself alive at 21.
not to mention there is snow on my car. -___- and other word salad.
but(!)
I got guess perfume for ten dollars yesterday.
post script: dear life, maybe you have something planned for me which is why you give me these small handouts. ( passing two of my HS courses with above 90 averages while never handing in a final, and only attending roughly five classes all quarter, graduating without graduation requirements, passing math B while sleeping through 85% of the class, my random raises at work, this extended leave of absence, even my probation- which is in its own way forcing me to go to college.) and maybe you've spoiled me with them, but thank you. and understand i think you owe me nothing. granted i was dealt my share of shitty cards. but we're even.
and twenty...well maybe i'll start living my life this year. [[but that's really a long stretch when you think of my procrastinating habits]]
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|  safe to say i don't know what i want
but it isn't all this choice
all these different ways to fail.
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| things to do today:
[x] scare the cat
[] eat burger king
[] drive forty-five minutes
[] laugh at/with najia uncontrollably
[] not spend (too much) money
[] christmas shopping (for all two people i'm buying for)
[] get hugs from alex
---- newsprint colored cat, cream colored log, we are practitioners of stealth. His window is glaring, hind legs bending and chin up while I am smiling, sitting silent waiting for his jump. Now(!)
... if the cat could only scream our sounds would battle at the top of the ceiling.
Zazu taught Simba
without permission, now I
am zazu's revenge
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| 14. A mystery, complete with a ( fictional) dead body and everything. -( 6pts)  The chair in the back in Mr. Hollenger's homeroom class had caught something; wheezing at just the simplest touch. It has also begun collecting cobwebs before anyone started asking about you. We didn't care.
He and I like feral dogs, we sprinted across the fields. Autumn is cold and burns the throat going down, best alcohol you can get around these parts. Not watered down. Not a week's worth of allowance. I didn't even have to slow down for him to catch up, for his hands to break the clasp on my bra. I went down hard but the ground was wet.
We rolled around in mud and dead leaves and the smell of insects. His lips tasting of my chapstick, the sun with a bandanna cloud around its mouth, bandit eyes watching us, we kissed and clawed into the other. I loved him then because it felt right. When he picked himself off of me the mist that eased between his teeth, my soul leaking from his body, all I could do was smile. His eyes were full bellied mosquitoes. Our teeth rattled like cockroaches. Our bed stiffened suddenly like stone.
In his car were a change of clothes. We never fucked, somehow. We just wanted to feel alive I guess, knowing we couldn't stop how fast we were dying. On his feet he offered me a hand. The walk back was slow and soundtrack deserving. I felt everything under my bare feet tenfold. Maybe that's why...
your wrist wheezed like your chair. I jumped and turned and saw. Your hand like chalk. He caught me by the waist told me we should go but I needed, people need to care about each other this way. So i pulled back the grass that tickled my waistline, flattened everything until there was just your face. Funny, I remember thinking you were a brunette but your yellow hair was almost blinding. I cried until he scooped me up. Your lips were in pieces. Until he carried me away.
"Fox?"
I was shaking against his chest.
"Yes Rabbit?"
"Who do we tell?"
"God knows, isn't that enough?"
That next day your empty seat, my mind on fire, I filled it.
He asked if we could go back, just one more time, to that field to be sprinters. I thought of all the people who had stopped talking to me since we'd started dating. I thought of all the people who didn't care anymore. We didn't care.
That next day your empty field, my mind on fire I...
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