Straight No Chaser

Two for the Price of One

a stupid survey seems a better alternative to elaborating on that last entry title. so. without further ado.

1. i am: very unhappy this evening.

2. i think: things are structured very unfairly right now, and that frankly, it's your fault.

3. i know: you're a precious jewel, and worth every drop of the blood spilling from my heart, but really, you're making me use cliches, and that can't go on.

4. i want: to consume your soul and replace your every livelihood. which makes total sense because i'm some kind of soul-stealing succubus. clearly. oh gee, you found me out. i better be craftier next time.

5. i have: the ability to complement you in every possible way. a ton of residual guilt from what happened on the way home from dallas. the womb that might house your beautiful babies, someday. your brown leather belt, rolled up on my bookshelf.

6. i wish: i could go to a brain surgeon, get a shunt inserted and install a pipeline direct from my brain to yours, so i could get away with thinking in concepts and pictures, and not have to try to verbalize everything, thereby srewing any chance i might have of accurately expressing myself.

7. i hate: to listen to you wheezing on the phone when i know it's your fault for bouncing around like a bumble ball all day, and the way i want to scream at you, afterward. i'm not your mother, i don't control your movements, they're your lungs and not mine. i shouldn't give a fuck about your belabored breathing, except when it's the other kind.

8. i miss: the ease of not being in love with my best friend. because even though there were some things missing, most notably every kind of stimulation i've experienced with you, there was kind of this nice, inoffensive hum to things back then. then, happy and sad came were mild, and came from things like grades, swingsets, caterpillars. i'm hardly bipolar these days, but the difference is noticeable.

9. i fear: you're going to break the guitar i just bought you, because i saw the way it was propped up against your desk, and that's exactly how the black one bit the dust last year. you don't remember? arghhh. the damn thing cracked right in half, had you grieving for the rest of the month, practically. i offered to help you buy a new one then, because i hated to see you that heartbroken. it took months to convince you. take care of this one, god damn it.

10. i hear: the opening sequence to "grey street," and the tears are automatic. not because of you, necessarily, even though the first instance was when we watched the live performance on your laptop, sophomore year. or, yes, because of you, because there's some hypocrisy there, in your singing along with great harmonic fervor, deeply appreciative of a song about a sad girl, but just sort of casually insensitive toward the sad girl sitting next to you. but also, because your singing voice is beautiful.

11. i search: endlessly for the strength to survive you. that sounds horrible. i take it back. i search for the fortitude to support you in your nine million noble causes. i search your eyes for truth and find it, every time. i search every single one of your political science essays for typos. i search for the words to love you enough, out loud, and fail, almost invariably. i search the district for george washington university, once a year, to kidnap you for kisses. no. no. i search endlessly for the strength to survive you. period.

12. i wonder if you really believed me the day i explained "the green dress" to you. you acted like you thought i was lying, just like you do every time you ask if you've woken me up and i say no. sometimes i am lying, then, because i want to talk. and i lied when you first asked if i liked you like that. (hello seventh grade.) but those are the only two lies i've ever told you. and i especially wouldn't lie about something i'd written myself, because if i were going to do that, couldn't i just skip the step of writing it? i wouldn't be surprised if you didn't believe me, though, because of how offended i was.

13. i regret: picking a fight with you on the way home from dallas. that was just stupid, really. plus, i was in the middle of giving you the first half of your birthday present (dallas), and i knew, even before it happened, that my bitchiness was going to carry over into our trip to pick up the second half (guitar). it was all my fault, and if i didn't apologize already, i am now. it's fitting that you'll never read this, because you don't deserve an apology. it was my fault the fight got started, but your fault it was as bad as it was, because i was being straightforward, thereby dodging your favorite complaint, and you still. you still.

14. i love: you, you stupid ridiculous imbecile. with a vengeance i cannot begin to describe. but that's too obvious. i love lana!!! she is so cute and so green, has such an innocent smile, feels so woolly and warm against my cheek, and the christmas ribbon around her neck brings out the robin's egg blue in her eyes, and the white-stitched hearts on the soles of her feet are so dainty and cute. i could stare at her all day. particularly if she were sitting on your chest, like she was the day we made the first collage; "we" being a loose term, there, because i did all the cutting/placing/pasting/tidying up, and you sat there, silent and fascinated, and played with lana. and god she is gorgeous.

15. i truly care: about every one of your career aspirations, but if i ever have to sit through another two-hour lecture on metropolitics, i will kill us both. you're going to be the smoothest, most cutthroat politician ever, someday, but don't accidentally make anyone else endure one of those lectures, or you'll get your throat, your personal jugular-vein-including throat, cut first. that shit was unbelievably, heinously boring. if nothing else, one thing i've learned from you is that it would be very difficult to be the wife of a politician. because you have to care, or pretend to care, about things that not only don't make sense, they are also so boring that they aren't even worth trying to figure out. and i don't say that much.

16. i always: turn into a zombie when we fight at night. no sleep, bloodshot eyes and everything. we didn't last night, but you forgot to do something important, and that was bad enough, and i was up till six this morning, trying to forgive you. and then i was up till eight, having forgiven you, frantically finishing up a sudoku and trying to think about anything but you and what you did. which was an accident, i know, which is why i'm not mad, just a zombie. tonight is going to be another night like that, i think; i'm pretty sure, in fact, because you gave me that vibe on the phone just now, and i'm already highstrung because of midterms, and it's not fair, just one of those things that happens approximately one-seventh of the time. too much.

17. i am not: a pincushion, though i'm pretty sure i have you fooled. i am not a genius, not literally; i don't have the answers to your questions, ever and especially right now. i am not your mother, but it's still okay to acknowledge my concern, and to accept my care, when it suits you. i am not going to nag you or beg you or kiss your proverbial feet, even when the instinct is oh so strong, because i am not stupid, and i know that's not a good tactic for building a strong relationship. but i am also not going to sacrifice a good thing for some stupid creature comforts, and like sade says, "love is stronger than pride," and she's right, because you strip mine down every day.

18. i dance: in your lap to tease you. you know that. and you like it, too. but i'm glad we ascertained that it's not a bad thing when you call me a tease, because i was starting to feel bad. i don't dance much, only with you, because i'm self-conscious, and you underestimate the extent to which that is a tremendous deal, the fact that i'm not ashamed to move my hips for you. i'm not saying it's the eighth wonder or anything. just that it doesn't happen often, and you make it happen. you dance for me, too, but with greater frequency, and i growl and whistle every time. i don't need you to growl or whistle. just know that. i only dance for you.

19. i sing: your praises to everyone who asks, even when i don't think you deserve them. right now you're on a mission to win the collective vote of the entire freshman class, months before you need it. so when they see your name in my phone, or hear my voice when i'm talking to you, i'm supposed to smile a lot, make sure to drop hints about how you're the most loyal, the most reliable, the most intelligent person i know. thinking, meanwhile, how strange it is that amid all that reliability, you can't find the werewithal to follow through with the single most important thing you said you'd do this semester.

20. i cry: and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry, all the time. thanks.

21. i fight: my physical instincts, but they fight back. and, like i've said, we push the envelope. i fight with myself when i should be fighting with you. you always win, when i fight with you. it's frustrating. on the bright side, though, i always learn something, and you never seem to. so maybe i win. that's one of the benefits of fighting with myself. i always win. i'm a fighter. right now, i'm fighting the instinct to call you. i shouldn't, really, until after i'm done with this essay.

22. i write: for you, sometimes, and other times i write about you, and under either circumstance, it's some of the most passionate writing of which i am capable. i wrote you a masterpiece, once, and then crumpled it up on the way down to your car, because i realized right after stepping outside that i wasn't ready to be done trying to write for you. shortly after, you wrote a masterpiece for me. i felt pleasantly one-upped.

23. i lose: the bet. remember the bet? freshman year, when we were first finding our sea legs, i insisted that you'd never hurt me, that you couldn't, and you bet me a million dollars that you would, someday. if you had a million dollars to fork over, i'd be a millionaire, now. but it wouldn't matter, because this is one of the few times when i'd rather have been right.

24. i win: ...do i? i don't think so. i got the higher sat score. but that's true of me with most people, and as snobbish as that sounds, i don't give a fuck anymore. you'll probably settle the score by kicking my ass on the lsat. and it still won't matter, because you win in all the ways that matter, and i unequivocally lose.

25. i'm confused: as to how this happens, because i've never done this before. i should have been taking notes, at the beginning. but you seemed so sure, and you had the cute little goatee, and i slipped easily into lemming mode. now, though, i think you're confused too.

26. i listen: to everything you say, and i supply everything you ask for. tell me i don't. i tune everyone else out, pretty routinely. i forget their important details. not so, with you. again, not the eighth wonder. but.

27. i can usually be found: around and about, nowhere in particular, because i go lots of places, but always with you in mind. my little thought bubble has your picture all over it.

28. i need: three things from you, and you already know what they are. and i won't tell you, again, but thank you in advance.

29. i am happy about: the promise of things to come after the twenty-fucking-third.

30. i should: call you now. i said i would.

this is one of those entries that will doubtless only be interesting to me. deeply sorry. one more, coming up.