things I like: writing here.
reading.

i.e.:
The ones who didn't get a cup went to the fire girl. When they were troubled, or lonely, or in pain, they went to see her. If they were lucky, she'd remove her blazing arm from the ice bucket and gently touch their faces with the point of her wrist. The burns healed slowly, leaving marks on their cheeks. There was a whole group of scar people who walked around town now. I asked them: Does it hurt? And the scar people nodded, yes. But somehow it felt wonderful, they said. For one long second, it felt like the world was holding them close.

He said Are you still mine? I still love you, do you love me? and I said I don't even know your first name, and for that matter, I don't know your last name either and besides, you just let our love plop in the ocean and how am I supposed to love you now? I put my hands on my hips.

oops!: I really haven't written in 5 days. Silly me. I can't keep track of the days anymore, I suppose.

still enjoying: movies. I think that I shall continue to see all these movies that I expect to be crappy. They just keep on surprising me. Everyone I heard talking about it complained about Pay It Forward, but my mom convinced me to get it anyway, cause she was tired and ready to leave and I figured if I didn't go ahead and agree then we'd not get a movie at all. And once I've set in my mind that I'm about to see a movie, I'll be ever so disappointed if it doesn't come through. There's not much in the world I count on for the future to bring me; I rarely anticipate or depend on anything of what is going to happen more than a few days or even a couple hours away, but when I'm inside the movie rental place already, I am set in the fact that I'm about to see a movie.
On a similar theme, I wasn't anticipating anything more than Haley Joel goodness from Pay It Forward but it was actually even more than worthwhile. It made me cry more than any movie has in ages. I don't know if that's really a good thing or not, because really, I'm pretty pissed about it. But it had an impact, I guess.

listening: "I've got lovers whose eyes I've only seen at a glance, I've got strangers for great-grandchildren, I've got strangers for ANTC...estors..."
Living in Clip is one of the best albums in my world.

in the mood for: thinking rather than writing, being talked to instead of talking, seeing things happen to other people but not having to deal with them happening to me, having other people worry about me and for me to stop worrying about others who don't need it or want it. But somehow, I can't stop doing any of those things.

not dealing with: lotsa different varyingly shitty things. But the thing is, I don't feel like it would make me or anyone else feel better to deal with them. But when you carry around a lot of shit, why does it seem that it just keeps getting heavier? Should I just keep remeasuring it? When dealing with it would be easier on me, maybe
I will.

Once I wrote about clothes that have too much meaning for me. A few of them have been strewn about over the years. You think if I write a want ad, I could find 'em someday?

LOST

• One (1) long-sleeved navy blue GHP '98 math major shirt. Has cool formulas and a few cool names (Marilyn Cole, Pallavi Manay, Chetna Khosla, Adam Nugent...) printed upon its back and a representation of a hypercube over the breast on the front. Got slept in, after my first TMBG concert, at Karl's aunt's house.
• A pair of Express Bleu Jeans with a hole in one of the knees, torn in a manner that could have been mud wrestling.
• Some awesome navy blue pants that ride in exactly my favorite place on my hips.
• A cool slightly oatmeal-colored t-shirt that has a water-colored falling purple angel on the front, and an embroided-in-silver-thread collection of letters underneath: j o y. Received for my fourteenth birthday. Was worn to my first bullshit Day school event.
• Some great summer shoes. They have wood soles and two thick brown leather straps that criss-cross over the foot. They're loud and clunky and made by Candie's.
• A pair of opaque blue tights that I used to wear as leggings in fifth grade.
• A pretty red sweater that I wore for Valentine's Day when Brett Andrews asked me out. A long, long time ago. It might not fit me anymore except for the fact that I was addicted to clothes that were way too big for me at the time.
• A lovely light blue tank top. It was small but stretchy, and made of the smoothest cotton I've ever worn.
• DAMMIT. Not really clothes, but as of right now, I can't find my lightning bolt necklace. I was wearing it a couple of days ago, so it can't be far. I don't think. I took it off with my amythest necklace, and I remember the image of the two black cords in a ball on a surface. I just can't remember what surface that was.

---

On my way to work I see this woman wearing a short shirt that shows her belly button. She has a rounded stomach, and the skin curving in makes her belly button look like a very deep hole. I'm walking with my Walkman on down Steiner, music loud in my ears for a Friday morning, and I feel a wave of desire to stick my dick in that deep dark belly button hole, to fuck the woman with the short shirt, to lay her down on the sidewalk and take her. She walks by and I walk by and I continue on my way to work.

Of course nothing happens. But I can imagine so clearly what it's like to enter a woman, I feel like I've done it. My body is on hers, drunk off the conquest, sliding in slow: my hips, push, the glaze. I think about that belly button girl and I think I would shock her and I like that. I want to see girls melt because girls are so goddamn elusive, you can't tell what the fuck they're thinking, except I am a girl, and I know just what a lot of girls are thinking, I know what I'm thinking, and right now it's exactly this.

© 1998 by Aimee Bender