lundi, janvier 23, 2006

++ finalized finalized ++

boston massachusetts
to
denver colorado
to
san diego california
to
palo alto california
to
boston massachusetts

soon! soon!

dimanche, janvier 22, 2006

dear dad,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

love. always.
- leonard

mardi, janvier 17, 2006

ava, you
leave the coolest, longest, most fantastic voicemails ever.

i

will call you. soon.

(-L)

mardi, janvier 10, 2006

i'm working with a whiskey in one hand and tea in the other. we're all working. luke reading a paper. dan earning rent with poker. someone put devotchka in the cd player.

i sent her this poem by e.e. cummings:

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

lundi, janvier 09, 2006

burlington, vermont. thursday, friday, saturday, sunday.

snow met me at south station and we had lunch, coffee, then a cigarette. i'll see you sometime i guess i said. we snarled, and then we waved au revoir. she gave me a politically incorrect book to read on the bus.

the bus broke down at montpelier and it became a four, five, six, seven hour trip. god i need a cigarette, i thought as the bus rolled into the vermont transit line station.

...

on friday pauline and i wandered up and down church street. i need to find a card for my grandfather, she said. one of the first cards was of a sunset and reminded me of death and the afterlife. are you sure this is cool? i asked. and once you get into that sort of thinking, everything starts looking sad and depressing and all about the afterlife. especially flowers and fields.

...

saturday i had my first massage appointment ever. i started tense, but spaced out for the rest of the hour. it was good. and after, i remember walking down church street, then college, then some other street. i liked not being able to think about anything. i'd start thinking too much and then freaking out and then a minute later i was walking towards lake champlain. i wonder if i can see champ from here, i thought.

...

sunday. i finished microserfs on the bus. there was a girl from brown sitting beside me and we talked for a bit but then i thought she talked a bit too loudly and i had to hide in my book.

sunday. first work day of the year on monday. i should be tired but i guess i'm not. not really. i don't want to be afraid of sleep.

to the new year, we toasted, if you could toast with cigarettes, as luke and i stood smoking outside the apartment. to a good year. to a better year.

mardi, janvier 03, 2006

I do not know if I am angry. I am drunk, frustrated, annoyed. With a cigarette in hand, and somehow happy.

"Do you think it looks good?" she asks, pulling her hair back behind her ear.

"I like it."

I put down my cigarette and lean forward to adjust the tiny earring. Heart-shaped. Silver Tiffany.

And when we kiss, it is perfume, champagne and whiskey, and sweet, bitter cigarettes, with her hair cradling our faces, our noses teasing, and her earrings tinkling softly.

This is the sound of me faltering. Dizzy. Staring back at her.

I am obsessive and I am compulsive and I tend to ask too many questions. When did it all begin to unravel? When did things change? When did I push her away? And how far? It is useless for me to harbor on these things but I do, I do, I do, and I must stop.

What we have now is precious and I should move on from here, and not what I thought we had.
It is early morning on the third day of the new year and this much I believe is true:

- I still have trouble sleeping.
- There has been too much self destruction.
- I really miss you dad.
- I love my friends dearly but I hide a lot from them.
- I do not talk to my family as much as I should.
- (I do not want to admit this but) I spend too much, too frivolously.
- I sleep better with someone beside me.
- I do not want to but I shall have to stop smoking. (Maybe next week.)
- I miss her dearly and even though it hurt, it was good to have fallen this badly.
- I should have more faith in God, and in myself.
- Life has been amazing but I am quite afraid of the year to come.

dimanche, janvier 01, 2006

"We're going outside? But I'm wearing the golden heels!"

"What about those boots?"

"Oh my mukluks! You're right, but wait - the heels go so well with my little black dress!"

And so Jen went with the golden heels and it was one, two, three drinks at the Eastern Standard. They were already there with a bottle of red and appetizers along the way. Anna waving hey with her sleek black gloves and her hair pulled back. Israel and JP in dark suits and drinks in their hands. Maiya sitting by the table in cashmere and a pink-black outfit.



Ron appeared, and then Erica and Alison, a manhattan, and a whiskey smash. "Hey what's that taste like?" she asked. And there was a pretty blond from out of town with her eyes painted black. Someone asked her to the party but I'm not sure if she ever came. "She said she's going to check out the Foundation Lounge first," he told me as he reached for his drink.

...

We practiced counting down and toasting at ten o'clock but someone cried out, what the hell are you doing?

There was a momentary tussle over the music playlist but I was too drunk to pay attention. "Who was that girl who kept changing the music?" she asked. "Who was that music nazi?" the other girl wondered aloud a day later.

At some point Dick Clark was on the projector and people screamed out ten, nine, eight till one and then ran about kissing friends and strangers, and toasted and spilled champagne and wine.



Erin called from New York and I got to talk to Timm. Snow called and we made drunken plans for the week. We tried calling Mo in DC but we couldn't get through.



We went through forty, maybe fifty bottles. Everyone thought the red jelloshots were especially strong. Just before passing out at three, I found Jen sitting on the black couch with red chopsticks and a take-out box of lomein. She swears it never happened.

We found Patrick in the morning on the black couch listening to Radiohead with his tie undone and his eyes half open. He says he made out with someone but he's not sure who.

...

The last good hours of the year. The first few hours of the new one.