jaydanovak
Playing the shuffle game with my best friend's iPod nano, I couldn't help laughing. Standing in the photography studio with my company, squealing with laughter and hugging each other's brains out, I couldn't help feel this impending sense of peace take over me. Soon doesn't matter right now. What matters is the Victoria trip where we played sardines on the ferry. What matters is my favorite blanket on our awesome couch. What matters is making KD because you're so hungover and adding mushrooms to it because we CAN. What matters is now. Soon will come when soon will come....but I'm not waiting for 'soon'.
Dice, pineapple chunks and blocks of ice
All things I like, but things that make my mouth purse
Things like rubix cubes, things like presents
Questionable things and things I can't understand
Square things, cubed things. Always somehow
Unnecessary...always somehow so endearing.
There is something so very awful about being late. Late for coffee, late for drinks, late for your period. Being late never means anything good. That said, I am a chronically 5-minutes-late sort of person. It's not that I don't KNOW when I'm supposed to arrive somewhere....I do. I just always seem to plan five minutes later than I know I should. It's the difference of leaving ten minutes earlier, something I'm utterly capable of...though it never seems to happen. Fuck. What an awful way to be- five minutes late. On the nose. Always. This is one of the things about myself I like the least. Five minutes late is NO better than twenty minutes late. It sounds better on paper, but it makes me just as lazy of a human being.
I took the peanut out of it's shell. The roundness of it. The soft curve of the thing in my hand was soft, even in the hazy of the honey lager I'd been sipping for hours. I hate shelling peanuts. I hate it because it's a lot of work for a little.....nut. This stupid, salty, chalky thing in my hand now. I bit down and chewed. It was alright, but when I thought back to the effort it only made me swallow. I reached for another. Rough...smooth inside but rough now. I knew it was a metaphor for something. But what? Fuck...I had no idea. The air was humid- drunkenly humid. The seedy bar lights seemed to swing but I had no idea if that was just my blundered mind making things wobbly. Peanuts....my dad liked peanuts. Liked to buy those big plastic jars and go fishing amongst them through the other variations: wal, chest, pine....myself? I liked the macademia. So little peeling for so much...nut.