i dunno why, exactly. i like my house, i like my housemates, the lights and books and music and a computer waiting for me. i can eat dinner, take off my shoes, relax.
that night, everything felt slightly off, like looking at the world through a sheet of glass lightly coated with oil. everything shimmers slightly but is cold and greasy to the touch, viscous reality.
i wandered around a grocery store for a while, looking at the packages, things i've forbidden myself colorful at my fingertips, waiting. finally, i gave in, bought a large bottle of wine (white zinfandel -- you should at least enjoy it when you self-destruct) and some plastic cups. i had my walkman, new music, the night.
i walked across the street to the golf course. it was about 11.30 or so, quiet except for cars driving to the store and a few people out walking or jogging. no moonlight golfers. my first plan involved sitting under a tree, bark rough on my back, staring up into the leaves where they blend into the night, and drinking myself blind.
the sprinklers had just shut off, rich wet dirt smell and mud on the ground but what the hell the skirt's black anyway, right? i sat. in an ant bed. okay, bad plan, melodrama or no.
i moved over to a green. spongy grass, too softgreen to be real, dampened by fake rain. the feel of the grass under my palms as i lowered myself onto it -- bristly wet, like stroking a man's face in the shower. i felt the blades making patterns on my palms, wanted to be closer, wanted to be into it more, so i slipped off my shoes and hose and spread my skirt out around me, lotus position near the tenth hole. i listened to aching music and sang along until i thought i saw some people sitting on a hill nearby and i knew they were laughing. i curled up into myself, hiding from the world, drunk on wine and depression and living. and i got angry. how dare they judge? how could they know? fuck them all, fuck everyone who was never there and who will never be there, everyone who's abandoned me and everyone who will, fuck them all, i don't need them i am sufficient and it doesn't fucking matter even if i hate myself and i cried and put on some old punk and turned the stereo up, dancing barefoot on the golf course in the night, wet grass under my feet and my toes dig into the turf, i'll show those assholes, show them all and i spun, my big black skirt swirling around my bare legs until the song was over and i collapsed, landing in a heap then lying on my back watching the stars.
--
sine | deb
an intense moment that, having passed, means nothing.
hmmm -- that could almost be my epitaph.