somehow I get my homework done and ace these assignments and find time to clean the apartment in between the hanging outs that have happened all this week. I don't know how either. I could use some sleep maybe though.
What do you want to do? I donno, what do you want to do? Wanna hang out? You don't have to. Should we play some music? Maybe? I don't know. What about dinner? Do you want to chill with someone or not or with someone else? Oh screw it, let's do something.
We are tired and indecisive, it's been a long day for both of us and neither of us wants to really admit it, and it's late by the time decisions are made, after I've gone and glazed a few ceramics and ridden my bike and made myself a bowl of leftovers. But he has dishes to give back to me and I have things for him and so we meet up. The roommate's ladyfriend is over cooking dinner and we feel weird being there so despite the insistent cold, we decide to head down to the valley to wander in the darkness along the river.
Our sense of forest isn't much of one, because you can still hear all the cars roaring over the bridge and humming on the roads on either side, there are the lights from the dog park and the animal shelter and the houses on the overlook. The clouds interlace with the stars, and despite the light pollution, I can pick out the big dipper and Orion and Sirius. We wander by the closed-up boathouse down to where the ice piled up when everything melted.
Neither of us want to go home, he switches out the Grant Hart in my CD player for Kyuss, we do terrible Valley Girl impersonations. I am an unconvincing ditz despite dealing with the Clevelandian equivalent on a daily basis, and we end up at a diner full of other lost-looking souls, slouching in a booth, talking about Cleveland and band stuff and life stuff.
One of my old roommates comes over last night with a third of a bottle of wine and some mango juice, and I cook her dinner. She's just quit her job and was offered another one by people who should know better than to ask her to take a paycut beyond the little she was already making. She's in the process of figuring out how to sell her possessions in the next few months and leave the country to save the world somewhere, some place like Kenya or Nepal. I know this is a long time coming, that her soul is more gypsyish than mine even though I look a little weirder.
The apartment is cold and there is snow on the ground which saddens me. I have a bunch of bananas going soft so I make banana bread to warm up the kitchen. We're listening to the songs we fell in love with in our dorm rooms a decade ago. I learn a lot about her immigrant families that I didn't know, and that our town has been a good fit for the Lhotshampa diaspora that was kicked out Bhutan for not being the right religion or ethnicity for the "Kingdom of Happiness." Evidently other families are coming here because the experience has been positive, which is something I didn't know and something that makes me feel good about this town even though there's giant potholes everywhere and a lot of political shenanigans and heroin addiction.
The next night, me and Neighbor go out to eat deep-fried bar food and watch some blues at a bar at the half-gentrified neighborhood next door, where the crowd is refreshingly unhipster. The band covers Gram Parsons, Social Distortion and Curtis Mayfield, we chill out and people-watch and soak in the atmosphere. I am tired but it's nice not to have to stress.
One of my college radio homegirls is sick so I wander over her way with a stash of tea and we sit in her dining room talking about various and sundry, and then homie and I talk on my walk home, he says he liked what I played on my show, we talk about other things too but we're both tired and maybe say things that don't mean much.
What do you want to do? I donno, what do you want to do? Wanna hang out? You don't have to. Should we play some music? Maybe? I don't know. What about dinner? Do you want to chill with someone or not or with someone else? Oh screw it, let's do something.
We are tired and indecisive, it's been a long day for both of us and neither of us wants to really admit it, and it's late by the time decisions are made, after I've gone and glazed a few ceramics and ridden my bike and made myself a bowl of leftovers. But he has dishes to give back to me and I have things for him and so we meet up. The roommate's ladyfriend is over cooking dinner and we feel weird being there so despite the insistent cold, we decide to head down to the valley to wander in the darkness along the river.
Our sense of forest isn't much of one, because you can still hear all the cars roaring over the bridge and humming on the roads on either side, there are the lights from the dog park and the animal shelter and the houses on the overlook. The clouds interlace with the stars, and despite the light pollution, I can pick out the big dipper and Orion and Sirius. We wander by the closed-up boathouse down to where the ice piled up when everything melted.
Neither of us want to go home, he switches out the Grant Hart in my CD player for Kyuss, we do terrible Valley Girl impersonations. I am an unconvincing ditz despite dealing with the Clevelandian equivalent on a daily basis, and we end up at a diner full of other lost-looking souls, slouching in a booth, talking about Cleveland and band stuff and life stuff.
One of my old roommates comes over last night with a third of a bottle of wine and some mango juice, and I cook her dinner. She's just quit her job and was offered another one by people who should know better than to ask her to take a paycut beyond the little she was already making. She's in the process of figuring out how to sell her possessions in the next few months and leave the country to save the world somewhere, some place like Kenya or Nepal. I know this is a long time coming, that her soul is more gypsyish than mine even though I look a little weirder.
The apartment is cold and there is snow on the ground which saddens me. I have a bunch of bananas going soft so I make banana bread to warm up the kitchen. We're listening to the songs we fell in love with in our dorm rooms a decade ago. I learn a lot about her immigrant families that I didn't know, and that our town has been a good fit for the Lhotshampa diaspora that was kicked out Bhutan for not being the right religion or ethnicity for the "Kingdom of Happiness." Evidently other families are coming here because the experience has been positive, which is something I didn't know and something that makes me feel good about this town even though there's giant potholes everywhere and a lot of political shenanigans and heroin addiction.
The next night, me and Neighbor go out to eat deep-fried bar food and watch some blues at a bar at the half-gentrified neighborhood next door, where the crowd is refreshingly unhipster. The band covers Gram Parsons, Social Distortion and Curtis Mayfield, we chill out and people-watch and soak in the atmosphere. I am tired but it's nice not to have to stress.
One of my college radio homegirls is sick so I wander over her way with a stash of tea and we sit in her dining room talking about various and sundry, and then homie and I talk on my walk home, he says he liked what I played on my show, we talk about other things too but we're both tired and maybe say things that don't mean much.
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