Thursday, May 15, 2008

Today is one of those days

that old Amanda would have quit.

and that is what They are expecting of me.

(cut to a couple of weeks ago when He was demanding to come over and i was saying i was going to end things while Kyl yelled in my ear: just let it! okay? just let it!

so i "just let it" and he over BUT in the end i suppose i am happy i didn't quit. i suppose. so you see- old amanda vs new amanda. but her hair was better.)

i can't get home for my sister's graduation because it's memorial day weekend and flights are out of control booked.

i miss the days of actually buying a plane ticket to go home. they were so solid.

plus, steph's cousin can do logarithms better than me.

but in good news: i found a kick ass cover of when doves cry by damien rice. one of the best songs in the world covered by one of the best artists. it's posted on the playlist at the bottom of my page.

also, i am making time to re-read wuthering heights for the sevenhundredandfourtiethtimethankyou.

"...because he's more myself than i. whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." -Catherine of Wuthering Heights

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

oh but I already knew that about you, he said.

then came the tug on my elbow and i was pulled into the curve of his chest where my eyelashes beat on the cotton of his white t-shirt. my palms against his chest, i felt the cadence of his swelling and collapsing lungs and let my mind wander:

if i were the air in those lungs, what kind of air would i be?

(the freezing air of a too early winter morning. the kind that hurts and makes you gasp and reminds you that you are alive.)

and in that moment of thought i was lovely. i was feminine. i allowed myself to be comfortable on his white cotton t-shirt.

still it was not a minute later that i shuddered. i squirmed.

i had realized that i was not yet ready to have someone fix my importance parallel with that of the very air in their lungs.

so he shrugged. he released me.

it is howmuchlongernow? and i wake to streaks of sunlight sifting through my blinds and creating diagonals on the pale of my arm. my eyelashes blink on the white cotton of my pillowcase. i feel the cadence of my swelling and collapsing lungs and let my mind wander:

if he were the air in those lungs, what kind of air would he be?

(the hazy air of a shady dive bar filled with smoke. as intoxicating as it is alluring. the kind that hurts and makes you gasp and reminds you that all things die.)

and though i am not ready to want someone so much i find their presence as addictive as nicotine, i let myself be feminine for a moment.

i think of what it might be like if you drew me back into that curve of your chest. back into the only place where it actually felt comfortable to be so well known.

i shudder. i release the idea.

but you already knew this about me.

Monday, May 5, 2008

Well aren't we all just breakable

breakable girls and boys.

Gotta get into Ingrid Michaelson. Love her.

Gotta work today. 6 hours. Which may seem like a below-average shift for some. But us FA's don't do well with that much work in one day. Also, we like 15 days off a month. Please and thank you.

Gotta finish book. Pick up Wuthering Heights. I need me some Bronte. Pronto.

Gotta go grocery shopping. Soy milk. Cereal. Fruit. Veggies. Things that are good for my body maybe.

Gotta call my mom and do something other than bitch about boys. She has a life too, maybe I should ask about it.

Gotta get over that they saw him. and he was doing absolutely nothing. there is no other girl. he was in his pajamas. and he still chose not to call.

Yeah, gotta get over it.