Monday, December 24, 2007

Beauty Is A Sin, Oh God

I want to be hit in the head and pass out dramatically more than I really want to play volleyball. I try to imagine the tape lines and the net without the sneakers and fat idiots that play with them, but I haven't got nearly the wherewithal to avoid it all. Clearly I'm too goddamn pretty for this and it breaks my heart.

Lauren breaks my heart. She's 'round for Christmas and I assume our eyes might have met. I hope she's keeping all in, going to chapel every school morning. You can wonder if she'll keep the lie or let it grow out, faith or unbeliving, and how deep it goes. As deep as how we were friends in June. She deals with what is necessary and I'm not.

That's the mindset that makes me cry. I'm not sad, not suicidal, not even really upset, just alone under that crazy swaying leaky roof.


Friday was warm and thin like the oldest flannel nightgown, three hours of the sixties in school and all afternoon invisible in bed. It's hard to turn me around when I think I'm good for being up to nothing. My fear inspires me to imitation and I could never really pass you up. I spent eight minutes trapped at a red light that wouldn't let me go.

We went shopping, which is mostly shoplifting anyway. (You're the magnet of my cheap moral compass, dear; sometimes misdirected but attractive nonetheless, not to mention worth the price paid.) Kurt Vonnegut hates semicolons, which I use a lot. I talked and talked. I don't know what I did all night really; there was discussion and dinner, prayer and jealousy, ice cream and sleep.

I got disoriented in my dreams and woke up to see them broken like the unbreakable are, spider-webbed and unshattered, car glass in a cellphone screen. Oh, you know. Someone else kissed someone and he happened to be the regular boy you would have liked. It happens. It happens to me all the damn time and I find out in typescript and the middle of the night.

"How goes it?"

It goes by too fast, I suppose. It's just too late in the year to complain about summer and summer before.
So I heard it's no good to run,
But it feels so much better, now that it's done
And tonight I have to leave it
Yes, tonight I have to leave it!

So I heard you know how to write it,
Does it mean you're good at putting things on paper?
And rumours say that you're very sorry
Oh no, you're not sorry, no you're not

- Shout Out Louds, "Tonight I Have To Leave It"

3 Comments:

Anonymous Spencer said...

Cheer up.

I found something for you that you said you lost, by the way.

http://img147.imageshack.us/img147/5349/bubble1rikr4.jpg

I'm not sure if I have the original, though. I'll be on the lookout for it.

December 24, 2007 7:18 PM  
Blogger The Great Blue Donkey said...

Oh Anna. You write beautifully. Let that put a smile on your face even if what you write so well is sad. Try writing something happy, but maybe you're the opposite of me; it's impossible for me to write something sad...Think of all the hats we took in 8th grade, the crazy outfits, the person you changed. I will always thank you for that; you made my world so much more colourful.

December 24, 2007 9:53 PM  
Anonymous Alison said...

you're...

the cough after my wheeze
the salt in all my seas
the sapling in my breeze
the bruises on my knees

(what's your pant size?)

December 25, 2007 12:51 AM  

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