Posting pictures is easier than writing.
My room, with Chloe (before). I crocheted that rug, even though I didn’t know it was a rug when I was making it. It kinda worked out that way.
My books are like 50% Russian and other languages, 40% design, and 10% Hello Kitty and other way-too-cute stuff. On the wall is the periodic table of hardware.
Stuff, and also junk.
I took this photo to show you what it’s like knitting a camouflage sock (second in a series of two). But the camera focused on my coffee. Its priorities are correct.
Chloe’s half the cat she used to be.
i like the polaroids. you just hold the bottom edge and shake. you don’t really even have to shake, but it seems to help psychologically. much like pushing the elevator button over and over. you know it’s pointless, but it feels so damn good.
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people’s faces when they’re half developed look like the things that wake me screaming at night.
—
polaroids are highly toxic but untraceable in the bloodstream unless specifically tested for. the victim experiences escalating dysphoria and night sweats, culminating in a spectacular bleedout on a par with the impact of an overfull water balloon launched from a 6th floor window.
—
we sat in the car that night, watching the windows fog against the lightening horizon, his smoke curling and jumping in the eddies of air coming from the dashboard vent. i huddled with my knees against my chest, hypnotized by the lighter. red spirals. i stared so long, i saw them everywhere. on his face, tired and unshaven. on his hands, shaking almost imperceptably as he handed me the stack of smudged polaroids. “i… i don’t think i’m ready for this.” my own voice startled me, rough and hollow. he leaned back against the headrest and turned slowly to look at me. emptiness. eyes that no longer wished to see, to bear witness. i recoiled, fearful that they would empty me. i grappled with the loose door handle for a breathless moment before it swung open, the deep groan of the hinges startling the crickets into silence. and i ran. wet grass coiling around my calves. a bright square of light on the gravel by the open door. smoke trailing lazily up towards the moon.
—
there was that time. that time with the whiskey. empty bottles spinning in the parking lot. laughing. watching, concentrating. not to fall down. you threw one through a car window. the alarm, echoing. ringing in my ears, chasing me. down the alley. puddles of piss and rainwater. on the corner, catching my breath. phone pole holding me upright. crumbling papers, faded and weatherworn. a shiny gold tack. polaroid of a dog. no, a puppy. sad eyes, like girls in silent films. no number. just “LOST”.
—
Dear Bryan, How are you, sweetie? I sure do miss you here in Indianapolis. You’ve probably read in the Picayune by now, but I won the title of Miss Indiana last week. Can you believe it? I’m so blessed, and I’m happy to be surrounded by my wonderful family here as I get ready for my mall tour. You know, the next step is Miss America!! What a dream! I have so much to do before then. Dress shopping, poise class, learning dance routines. What will you say when you see your old girlfriend up on that stage in Las Vegas? I hope you’ll be watching! Let’s get together for lunch when I get back to Fort Wayne. I’ll be back there for a few days at the beginning of October. I haven’t seen you in so long! Hey, do you remember those Polaroids you took of me the night of senior prom? You still have them, right? I’d really like to get them back from you if I could. You know how it is with Miss America and all. I’m sure you understand. Missing you,
Katie
Yep! Night.—
people’s faces when they’re half developed look like the things that wake me screaming at night.
—
polaroids are highly toxic but untraceable in the bloodstream unless specifically tested for. the victim experiences escalating dysphoria and night sweats, culminating in a spectacular bleedout on a par with the impact of an overfull water balloon launched from a 6th floor window.
—
we sat in the car that night, watching the windows fog against the lightening horizon, his smoke curling and jumping in the eddies of air coming from the dashboard vent. i huddled with my knees against my chest, hypnotized by the lighter. red spirals. i stared so long, i saw them everywhere. on his face, tired and unshaven. on his hands, shaking almost imperceptably as he handed me the stack of smudged polaroids. “i… i don’t think i’m ready for this.” my own voice startled me, rough and hollow. he leaned back against the headrest and turned slowly to look at me. emptiness. eyes that no longer wished to see, to bear witness. i recoiled, fearful that they would empty me. i grappled with the loose door handle for a breathless moment before it swung open, the deep groan of the hinges startling the crickets into silence. and i ran. wet grass coiling around my calves. a bright square of light on the gravel by the open door. smoke trailing lazily up towards the moon.
—
there was that time. that time with the whiskey. empty bottles spinning in the parking lot. laughing. watching, concentrating. not to fall down. you threw one through a car window. the alarm, echoing. ringing in my ears, chasing me. down the alley. puddles of piss and rainwater. on the corner, catching my breath. phone pole holding me upright. crumbling papers, faded and weatherworn. a shiny gold tack. polaroid of a dog. no, a puppy. sad eyes, like girls in silent films. no number. just “LOST”.
—
Dear Bryan, How are you, sweetie? I sure do miss you here in Indianapolis. You’ve probably read in the Picayune by now, but I won the title of Miss Indiana last week. Can you believe it? I’m so blessed, and I’m happy to be surrounded by my wonderful family here as I get ready for my mall tour. You know, the next step is Miss America!! What a dream! I have so much to do before then. Dress shopping, poise class, learning dance routines. What will you say when you see your old girlfriend up on that stage in Las Vegas? I hope you’ll be watching! Let’s get together for lunch when I get back to Fort Wayne. I’ll be back there for a few days at the beginning of October. I haven’t seen you in so long! Hey, do you remember those Polaroids you took of me the night of senior prom? You still have them, right? I’d really like to get them back from you if I could. You know how it is with Miss America and all. I’m sure you understand. Missing you,
Katie
Jenni