the weekend
i am writing a story about the end of the world.
it will be my first micro-novel. it will be up here shortly.
all my sentences begin with 'i'. everything is about me.
this is good.
i called someone to ask them to hang out with me the other night. i was making small talk for a little while. i tried to say something funny in order to lead into asking them to hang out.
i said, i thought we could get 'fucked up' as they say.
(see last post)
and then i laughed a forced laugh because it is important to magnify all emotions when employing telecommunications.
she did not laugh.
she repeated it. 'fucked up?' she said
and then i added: yes, as they say
i added this to let her know that i didn't care if we hung out or not and that i was just joking but if we did hang out it would be cool with me, i was just calling to see, whatever, nothing hurts me.
and then she said, Oh...ok, well, i don't know yet.
i paused for a few moments and listened. she was struggling. i tried to say something else that i thought would be funny. i could not think of anything. i knew she did not want to become 'tied down' to hanging out with me that evening and i was okay with this. but i could not speak. i was realizing that i am boring person and that i can be a 'drag'. this was funny to me but not yet as i am only now laughing about it. the only reason i could not speak was because i was still in the middle of discovering this and also discovering that i was okay with this and that i didn't need to be with someone all the time in order not feel lonely.
i felt like i learned something. i felt like my name was stephanie tanner. i felt like i had been addicted to methamphetamine and destroyed my marriage with a mixed race Los Angeles police officer and that i was now just waking up and looking at the shambles of my sitcom life and realizing that sometimes i look like a tiny little imp and that i am not wanted to be hung out with on a friday evening when all i really wanted to do was just get fucked up, sit on a couch, and build a mountain of empty beer cans while staring uneasily at guests at a backyard bonfire/cookout in the woods.
and this was too much to ask for, i think.
it will be my first micro-novel. it will be up here shortly.
all my sentences begin with 'i'. everything is about me.
this is good.
***
i called someone to ask them to hang out with me the other night. i was making small talk for a little while. i tried to say something funny in order to lead into asking them to hang out.
i said, i thought we could get 'fucked up' as they say.
(see last post)
and then i laughed a forced laugh because it is important to magnify all emotions when employing telecommunications.
she did not laugh.
she repeated it. 'fucked up?' she said
and then i added: yes, as they say
i added this to let her know that i didn't care if we hung out or not and that i was just joking but if we did hang out it would be cool with me, i was just calling to see, whatever, nothing hurts me.
and then she said, Oh...ok, well, i don't know yet.
i paused for a few moments and listened. she was struggling. i tried to say something else that i thought would be funny. i could not think of anything. i knew she did not want to become 'tied down' to hanging out with me that evening and i was okay with this. but i could not speak. i was realizing that i am boring person and that i can be a 'drag'. this was funny to me but not yet as i am only now laughing about it. the only reason i could not speak was because i was still in the middle of discovering this and also discovering that i was okay with this and that i didn't need to be with someone all the time in order not feel lonely.
i felt like i learned something. i felt like my name was stephanie tanner. i felt like i had been addicted to methamphetamine and destroyed my marriage with a mixed race Los Angeles police officer and that i was now just waking up and looking at the shambles of my sitcom life and realizing that sometimes i look like a tiny little imp and that i am not wanted to be hung out with on a friday evening when all i really wanted to do was just get fucked up, sit on a couch, and build a mountain of empty beer cans while staring uneasily at guests at a backyard bonfire/cookout in the woods.
and this was too much to ask for, i think.
posted by wagner israel cilio iii @ 10:30 AM
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