polyester bride

The Blue of my Oblivion
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2004-03-13 14:47:45 (UTC)


ha. i woke up at the crack of dawn. 7 o'clock. i'm amazed
at my bravery. i went to sleep kind of early i guess, 10
o'clock. my mom was surprised to find me in bed with only
underwear and a school shirt on, especially at a time so
early for us night time folks. but no, not me. i have to be
the different one, always. i nested myself in the huge
black comforter and sweated with my red/orange hair
sticking to my forehead.

i don't remember what i was dreaming about.

but i woke up, and my first instinct brought me to the
computer, where now i gently sit. no words escape my lips,
i'm just here. i just am. now in baggy shorts and a t-
shirt, with my greasy hair thrown up sloppily into a
ponytail. day old eyeliner is smeared underneath my eyes,
my lips are pale, and my skin is soft. purple digs itself
deep beneath the almond-shaped basins, cradeling worn blue
eyes, glistening each time i yawn. my shin is throbbing,
but the wound is healing. the scar remains. another
bittersweet reminder.

i came to the computer and surprise surprise, he was
online. we talked - he talked. i wrinkled my freckled nose
and yawned. he was looking at star wars movie trailers and
also whatever soccer memorabelia he could find on the web.
yapping on about it as i stared into space. he's such a
momma's boy. it's funny. i really don't like the kind of
person he is - i really can't get into star wars, i'm
working on soccer (i actually do enjoy it more now), we
don't like all of the same music, he doesn't play guitar,
he doesn't watch tv or movies much, he's not an artist
(other than graphic doodles in notes to his friends). we
almost have nothing in common, it would seem. but we find
stuff, we feel the same way about a lot of things. he gets
all A's, i'm trying to dig myself out of C's with no such
luck. he hangs out with his friends, i sleep. but somehow,
through some miracle, we fit together like pieces to a
puzzle. i love holding his hand, i love feeling his neck on
my cheek when we hug, i love seeing him with his friends
when he doesn't see that i'm watching, i love watching him
play soccer, and i love seeing-from the corner of my eye-
him, watchimg me. i love talking to him, hearing what he
has to say. he used to be so shy. i never really knew who
he was. i was loud, obnoxious, and a geek. he was quiet,
looming, and well, a geek. no one else seems to think he's
cute. it's so wierd. everyone thinks chris is cute,
everyone thinks reed is cute, and they are. i have some
goodlooking girl and guy friends. but i seem to be the only
one marveling at just how...hott...he is. which is fine, in
fact i'd prefer it.

my parents were like us. mom was a quiet, all A's student.
she came from a semi-rich family, one that raced horses and
played football. she was short and pale with black, curly
hair and silvery eyes. he was a loud, popular guy with a
million friends. he was an actor, and he sang along with
his guitar. he was tall, rail thin, with blonde hair and
blue eyes. but they fit together. somehow, they fit
together. now they are both loud. mom is still short, with
curly dark red hair and pale skin. she wears mostly black
and other dark colors (like me...almost scary). her family
doesn't race, but the grandsons are expected to carry on
the football tradition. and she wants no part of it. she's
a writer. she is magnificent. dad is still a giant, but the
rail has filled out into an inner tube. he blonde hair is
darker now, crowning a greying beard. but his blue eyes
still penetrate anyone who looks in them. he is a fancy
businessman, and still sings with his guitar and has a
million friends.

they're so perfect for eachother, but they were so
different. just like us.

it's reassuring, i guess. i mean i don't want to end up
like my parents. but it's reassuring that opposites do
attract in some cases.

and we flirt. it's bad. we don't mean to. i don't mean to
really flirt. it's a friendly sort of flirt. it's like
an "i love you as a friend" sort of flirt. a goofy flirt.
we're children. we all do it, everyone i know. we flirt, it
just happens. it comes naturally, we can't control it.

we just want variety. get a taste of something different.
it makes you appreciate what you have. and that's fine.

i take a lot of measures to piss people off. the majority
of my actions are merely to cause a stir. who am i to care
what people think? i'm a big thinker, a dreamer. my mind
whirs, gears turn, and i think about all kinds of things
other people could never think of. i'm out there, i'm
wierd. i hate and love that about myself. i can't explain
it. it just is. i just am. i'm different. so is he. and i
love him for it. he's not my dream guy, but he makes me not
even want my dream guy anymore. he's amazing, and i'm
nothing. variety. maybe the girls he flirts with make him
appreciate me. i can only hope. i'll never find another guy
like him.