posted on March 10, 2004 @ 3:12 pm
this afternoon i listened to the epoxies album twice in a row. maybe thrice. i lost count. having begun learning the lyrics, i can't abandon them now. i dropped off a loan payment at the downtown post office, then dropped off my whore pill prescription on campus. after being overly nice to the garage cashier (whom i despise) for my entertainment, i ventured to half-price books on s. lamar. a new collection has sprung to life�pre-adolescent books illustrated by edward gorey. also helping drain my account was a strange fantasy and an "incest-comedy gothic jewish porn" [village voice] novel, watch your mouth. daniel handler's the author, also the author of a series of unfortunate events. we all know of that existing collection/obsession.
approaching my humble abode at 225b i noticed a ladder to the roof a few buildings down and men's voices overhead. i quietly unlocked my door then froze.
"...a hundred thousand dollars."
"for a sex doll?"
"yeah but she never says no."
"and that's what counts!"
both men laughed.
"you know the number one reason men stop having sex with their wives? it's not attractiveness..." the other man replied in a murmur, and suddenly their voices became hushed. the smile on my face faded as i stood holding my keys and my breath, hoping the awning adequately kept my presence a secret. i tried turning invisible even though i was unsure of how they'd see me. my pale legs in the sunlight? my purple skirt? maybe the awning only hid so much. had they heard the clack of my lock not followed by someone entering, or did they merely sense a corporeal eavesdropper grinning from their candid conversation? their verbal exchange continued, much quieter, indiscernible.
giving up, i stepped inside, raised the blinds in the living room so janeane could perch on the sill, and reclined with watch your mouth. having witnessed janeane's head twitch and snake following birds' paths outside, i began reading. i recognized his style from the series books only this time less succinct, since adults should have larger attention spans.
by page two and a half something caused me to pause: silence. the men on the roof were inaudible (due to relocation or simply because they trampled around two floors up), no vehicles rolled through the neighboring complex bassing rap or tejano, no passing cars on burton drive screeched or had noisy, unserviced engines. all i heard was the whir of the oscillating fan pointed at me, the tink tink of janeane's tags as he chased a die and lept to and form the sill, and the muted rumbling of a bus passing every 10 minutes.
now still i recline, only this time with mr. handler on the footrest, watching janeane take a bath in the window. i'm a bit sleepy, but with only 18 minutes left before i have to leave for work, that's not an option. thusly i've resigned myself to sitting and staring, maybe reading. what i love about having nothing to do during the day is this: the silence that lingers while everyone else is out bettering themselves. i can even hear the birds.