Musings from the road

I feel a little, well, silly taking the time to update this when only two people seem to be reading it at all. But it's alright, I'm doing it anyway. If it pleases you, read on, and if it bores you, by all means, accept the alluring beckoning of that big, red X button.

It's the third day of our trip south. Well, that's a little odd to say, because I haven't been counting the days. This is the third strange city we stop in, the third hotel room whose floor (maybe even a bed, if I can beat the others to one) I'll be sleeping on. The third long, restful night of sleep I will endulge in. These are the things I notice. The days have bled together, from avenues to highways to interstates to gravel roads. Kilometers to miles. Clipped, clean accents to american drawl. It's a slow transition, but it's there. And it's all comforting to me. I've slept better in the past three days than I could ever sleep in a week - hell, a month - back home.

Odds and ends I wrote each day but never found the time to post:

Thursday, June 28th: We left today as soon as my mom got off work. It's a short day, and the highways are smooth and straight. We crossed the border easily enough. We passed a tree about an hour into North Dakota and I've been aching ever since, because I should have taken a picture of it. It symbolized the state, the entire day, perfectly. It was a big tree with long, lean branches, lone in the middle of a huge expanse of a feild. It had long strings of green trailing from its branches. It might have been a weeping willow, but it was too think, I think. Anyway, the tree itself was half crippled. Some of its branches jutted out at awkward angels. Some hung down, dead. It's hard to explain in words, but I saw it and it just struck me as something I should take a picture of. But I didn't. We stopped in Minot, an endearing little city, but nothing overly special, and stayed at a Comfort Inn for the night. It was...okay.

Friday, June 29th: I spend about 90% of the time we spent on the road dead to the world. The dead feeling North Dakota emits is hard to shake off. I buried my nose in books, singing absentmindedly to whatever happened to be on the radio. I devoured each story of Jesus' Son in quick succession, and following a short period of scattered thoughts in which I wondered if it was possible to O.D. on a book, I picked up Endgame. I was a virgin to the book, but it grew on me quickly, until the very end, where reading became arduous as I knew what would happen. And it did. I still haven't shaken off the weight of those two books. We scrambled around Miles City until we found the Best Western. Miles City is like a walk through the 50's. It's horrible, and it happened to be 40 degrees Celcius. Urgh.

Saturday, June 30th: A relatively short driving day. We left early in the morning and arrived in Bozeman at about 4:00. We decided to visit the mall, for lack of a better way to kill time, and I bought a CD, another book to fight off the boredom when the scenery gets flat again, a shirt and some makeup. Nothing too special. Flicked through the channels. Read some of my book (It's Kind of a Long Story. It's a teen book, but so far it's charming nonetheless). Listened to the new CD (Dying is Your Latest Fashion, by Escape the Fate. My heaviest band, heh.) while typing this up.

It's a comfy city that I like to imagine myself living in, foolishly. Everything I imagine myself doing is a fool's dream. The hotel room isn't overly large, but just like the city, it's comfortable.

I'm honestly boring myself. But I just can't help but babble about my travelling. There's a feeling it gives me that I obviously can't express and have wasted the past 45 minutes trying to get it out. I feel light and free. We have a destination in mind, but nothing else as of yet. We may take the same route home, or an entirely different one, or my older sister and I may be flying back and spending some time with family or friends while we wait for the others to drive back. It's all up in the air.

I can't stop thinking about love. Romance. Crushes. Lust. It's always on my mind, at least partly, turning over and over but never really doing anything more, like an engine that won't start. I have a certain name on my lips, a daydream in my eyelids, and a memory in my brain that seems to cancel out the other two. I've been through a lot and I don't trust anyone with this love business. Myself included.

Well, it's late and everyone else is out. I should sleep, too. Goodnight.

Pixels form letters form words that mean nothing

Dear You,

I just thought you should know how I feel, and you know how I hate to admit how doe-eyed I can be, so this is my alternative.

I want to let you know that hearing you talk about other girls nearly kills me.

That I love that you flirt with me and forgive my shameful attempts at flirting back.

I love that you come to me with your problems, not only because I love to help but that it's amazing to see this soft, sensitive side of you that is so rare in teenage boys.

I hate that there is nearly two hours of distance between us, and so much less between all the other girls you tell me about. I want to be close to you, too.

I love your poems and songs. Even the bad ones.

I love your laugh and your sense of humour.

I hate that the phone muffles your laugh and cuts out over your best jokes.

I love the way you forgive my 'blonde moments'. I love to witness yours.

I love that you ask "which one?" when I mention something about "my sister".

I love the voice you use when you immitate your own sister.

I hate that I can't see you smile, and that you have to ask if I'm still listening because you can't see me nod.

I love that you can find a great story in almost any situation.

I hate that your great stories sometimes involve those girls that I wish were all dead.

I love to think how it would be to be with you again.

I hate to think that if I were with you, you would do something I hate and ruin everything.

I hate that I hate anything about you.

I love that you offer hugs and kisses in hypothetical situations, almost as if you just like to make me imagine...

I hate that it's all hypothetical.

I love knowing that you'll be waiting back here for me.

I hate thinking I could come back and hear something like "...so I have a new girlfriend..."

I hate that it's all hypothetical.

This letter is cliche, I know: The infamous Letter I'll Never Send, addressed to the equally elusive Boy I'll Never Have. But these things need to come out and I'd seem like such a silly little girl if I were to actually voice them.

This is safer, for both of us. I'm getting used to living on the safe side.

I love don't hate you.

I hate that it's all so fucking hypothetical.

Do You Belong to a Song?

Sunuva..

Yesterday, after Sports Day at school (which for me and my injury was just a day of sun, minus two hours which were spent skipping to wander around town) I spent the evening at Bridget's house. I met her mum (a woman I've come to characterize by the cigarettes she always has on her person - but you know, don't tell her that) and we watched some TV. Her mother went outside to leave us to our own devises, and before long we were shut up in the office, screaming the words to Johnny Cash and George Jones. It was a night of innocent and shameless fun, wherein I did not drink, which I was proud of.

I'm going through that phase where I deem it neccesary to de-booze myself. I'm young and it shouldn't run my life as much as it sometimes does. I don't see myself staying sober, and it's not like I have a problem anyway. I just don't like the fact that I was feeling compelled to suck up to people just because they're my drinking company. So it's out with those people and out with the liquor, for a while. It's a healthy break, it's helping me get close with people I let drift away, and it's generally just making me happy. Right?

Wrong. While last night was my first sober Friday night in a fair while, it was also one of my close friend Ryan's worst drunken feats ever. He announced over IM to me that he made out with a girl he likes at a party. This boy is pretty important to me, we're close and if he happened to live closer I would most certainly fall for him and proceed to train behind him like a lost puppy. I always assumed he had the same kind-of-romantic feelings. And maybe he does, I mean, he was drunk. And even if he likes her, it doesn't erase his feelings for other girls. And I don't think that this girl likes Ryan back anyway (she actually thought he was someone else, from what I hear).

But anyway, he phoned, still not quite sober, and told me all about his night and I perched somewhere between contented, jealous, angry, annoyed, devastated, amused and absolutely exhausted. He left at 2 and I talked to Stray for a while, but I just wasn't in the mood to hold up a real conversation.

The calm, logical part of me is saying not to worry, one night doesn't change everything and we haven't gone on our date yet so even if he does end up with her, I never really had any claim over him anyway. The mad, scathing part of me (a much larger part, mind you) is screaming "That bitch kissed him, and the little bastard kissed her back! Am I just going to be a one-night fling as well? Is this how it always has to work?! I find a great young man and am insecure in the relationship, and the second I belive what's going on and am willing to step into it, the fucker turns around and MAKES OUT WITH A PRACTICAL STRANGER?"

I need a drink.

Swelling Digits & Sour Tidbits

Finally my bumps and cuts from the other day have revealed themselves in the form of two large clusters of sickly-coloured bruises and a very large hill on the 'knuckle' of my toe (exactly what does one call such a thing, anyway?) Why it took two days to show up, I don't know, but I'm glad because I can see that as badly bruised as I am, I'm healing. I like to keep track of that sort of thing.

This road trip idea is getting a little more rocky, as have a lot of things. My dads taxes situation has gone from mildly inconvenient to a slight problem to a midsize dilema to a full-blown nightmare. The ifs and hows and whys are just as boring as you're imagining, so I'll spare you. I've broken every E string on every guitar I own, as well as any replacements, and I'm too broke to buy more. Men continue to spray fuel on the fire of my insecurity. I've lost 3 pounds and I have two pimples side by side on my cheek like conjoined twins. It's 11:50 and I can't sleep.

But it's a free day of school tomorrow, and next week is my last week of classes. After that, two days of exams and then (hopefully) a trip as far away from Manitoba as physically possible.

Oh, also, an old friend (not so much a friend anymore, but you know how that goes) of mine ran away from home last night. I was told his stepfather was abusing him. I felt bad. Horrible, even. Worried sick. Then I hear this morning that this was verbal abuse, not physical. And considering the type of person this friend is, I doubt it even really registered as that. But now he's back home, his stepdad is probably facing huge problems for yelling at his out-of-line stepkid over skipping school or something, and I'm a little disgusted. I know kids whose fathers beat them or emotionally abused them to the point where they abused themselves. This boy is told to smarten up (I'm making an assumption here, yes, but I've known his mom and stepdad for years now and the man is not nearly involved enough to abuse the kids. He more just speaks for his wife when she's too tired to) and calls family services.

It's a pet peeve of mine when people (especially overdramatic teens) make their own problems like this. But at the same time, verbal abuse is probably a very vague term, and there is a sliver of chance that this man slipped out of character long enough to raise his voice and throw some words around. I'm not saying this boy is a liar. I'm just saying, haven't we all felt like our parents were being jerks at one time or another? Being a parent is hard; marrying into the role of a parent when you have no kids yourself is at least twice as hard.

Today, while digging through the stocks of my parents' basement for my 'good shoes' (a term popular among mothers whose children own a menagerie of dirtied, crusty sneakers and but a single pair of clean dress shoes, often locked up in the basement as mine are so as to not be tainted by my touch), I managed to miss a step on the staircase and ended up with my knee wedged between two steps. A comical situation, really, and embarassing, so I squeezed out as fast I could, with two new peculiar injuries: a large grey bump on my shin, and a strange hill protuding from my opposite foot's big toe.

I wandered around the house with a gate like that of a duck, and now that my mum diagnosed it as either a sprained or broken toe (and just an icky bruise), I'm worrying about how I'll live out the healing process. My good shoes are still an essential part of my outfit to my cousin's graduation. No doubt that will be hell. I have a beep test tomorrow in P.E., which will be the equivilant of suicide, really. And then there is California, the magnetic state that's been calling to me all month. The trip there was going to be free, frollicking fun across the Rockies, the deserts and the beaches. Now it's going to consist of limping in and out of the car, bitching the whole way. Less appealing.

I'm sorry to have left my modest e-hideaway so barren for so long, but this romance concept has a way of fogging up a young girl's mind. I'm back and intend to keep the place stocked a little more often, just as a sanity-maintaining sort of ritual. Writing has always served as a nice little temporary escape, and writing about my life provides both refuge and a small dose of this 'reality' I am so prone to ignoring.

So far a total of 2 people have been told about my converting to Silentology, and neither one of them the most involved creatures in my life. But if they choose not to comment (or even not to read) that's alright, since this is just as much for me as it is for them.

I am so close to love that it's maddening to think about it, but even worse to disregard it. My friend is stumbling down the same road, too, a few messy steps behind. Emotions are intoxicating.

This is a public service announcement...

Date. Kindasorta. Maybe.

See, universe? That's all I wanted. Not a vow to eternal love or even a boyfriend (not that it's out of the question...you know). I just wanted to feel like someone enjoys having me around, or at least know that I have a connection (however small) with someone. Usually when I think there is something, there is really nothing, and when I think it's obvious that there is nothing, the other person is bound to feel the opposite.

So maybe I'm finally in sync with someone. It's nice.

Don't worry, I'm not taking this as more than it is, it's just a friend trying to get to know me better. I'm just saying someone caring back is nice. Comfy.