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Move Along Now - Nothing More To See

2004-03-18 - 9:38 p.m.

Been Watching: Survivor, Daily Show, Maury

Listening To: Dylan, Radiohead, Ben Folds

Quote: "Stupid Mrs. Fields cookie coupons - Get a free cookie when you buy 2 half dozen million cookies." -Becca

HI! IT LOOKS LIKE I'M SHOUTING BECAUSE I'M TYPING IN BIG LETTERS. HOORAY FOR SHOUTING!

UP WITH SHOUTING!

Although, you must know, shouting doesn't mix well with all these cloak & dagger shenanigans. I don't mean Cloak & Dagger! Oh no, that's something much different!

Well Shakespeare, he's in the alley. With his pointed shoes and his bells. Speaking to some French girl, who says she knows me well . . .

I'm sitting in the LRGH parking lot. And the snow has started it's 4th - perhaps it's the 5th - cycle since the night before. I can't get my damned radio to work. No - I can't get my fucking radio to work. I start to pound on the dashboard but that'll help about as much as when I busted the record player out of spite. Wait - was that me? Did I dream that? Or read about it? No - that was me. I just want to be home. In my bed. Well - not my bed. It's too dusty. I don't just want a bed with high walls around it. I want a bed with low sloping walls around it. If I stand up on the bed and jump to the left or the right there's a 100% chance I will knock my head on the wall and a 40% chance I'll knock myself out. Like that kid did on the top bunk. Wait - did I dream that? Or read about it? No - it wasn't me.

I just want to get home. My left wiper doesn't work and my right window is still broken and I need to get my oil changed. I'm not using my gas card out of anger. Well . . . I suppose you can't call it anger. Well, I suppose you can. I just want to get home. Or to a house. No - a home. Like a drug, the first time you drive the car on your own it's a powerful, even scary, high. Each time it lessens. Everyone's been driving longer than I have. But it's been more than a year, so while the high is still there, it's a very low-level buzz. It's pot out of an apple, not a pipe. Ha. Did I dream that? No - that was no dream. The seats spun around. Were there sparks? Of some kind? I don't care. I hate all this fucking snow. What's it good for if you don't ski? Ski anymore.

There's still no radio. No music. No distraction. I'm halfway home and there's no reception. No phone calls. No distraction. Too much time to think. Too much time to drive. My back hurts. It always hurts. I'm tall. I hate this. I hate my family and I love them too. Except, I mostly just include the "love" part because it makes the sentence cheesy in its own duality. I can't stand having to get older while they stay the same. Doesn't everyone say this? Why is this unique? Why is this a different voice? Why is the wallpaper different? Is there even any wallpaper?

I just want to get home. I can't take this anymore. You're being really strong. Thanks. Glad to hear it. That helps. That makes me SO much stronger. Does that sound sarcastic? I meant it to. But I don't think I meant it. I just want to leave. I want to get the fuck out of here. Where's here? This whole place. Why does everyone else get to leave? What - it's not like I'm grounded. When was the break?

Why am I sitting on the curb in the parking lot at New Meadows?

Why am I sitting on the back deck, clenching my fists, looking at the slats and the nails on the wooden boards that have been replaced in a patchwork fashion over those last 9 years. I make a promise that I know will be impossible to keep - but still I keep it. Perhaps that's the break.

Or carving shit into trees that will be cut down soon . . .

Stopping the car when it's snowing so I can get out and grab something from a home long since gone . . .

I forgot - it's still snowing. I just want to go home. I just want to eat dinner. I just want things to go smoothly. I don't want to worry about these people that only cause me to worry. I just want to listen to my music. Not your music. I'm not going to smile and make pretend I like it. Right. Because I've had that plan for how long now? Since I was taking candy out of the excess Halloween bowl and stuffing my pockets for the long walk to school. And it doesn't matter if it's raining or snowing, I'm not wearing a hat.

But it is snowing. And I just wanted to have more lyrics. To have more funny things to say. To have more pictures. Man, that was an . . . interesting entry. Thanks. Just don't say anything at all. How about that? Ha. Whipser, whisper. Mutter, mutter. Did you hear? I heard. Thanks. Of course I heard. I hear everything remember. And the parts of everything that I don't hear, I always find out about too late to do anything about them. But I'm guessing that's by design.

I walk down that hall and every time I think, "As long as you don't turn your head. I just don't want to see your profile. As long as I don't . . . then I can just make believe."

I'm sick of being powerless in the only situations that seem to matter the most to me. Does it sound dramatic to say that one of the people you always thought knew you the best doesn't know you at all? Or that you're about to lose one of the people that really does know you well? Maybe no one knows me at all. No - some do. I think. But god knows I've been wrong before. Well . . . I'm pretty sure I've been wrong. People have told me I've been wrong.

Nod your head. Think, "Yes. I get it. I get it. I understand." You don't understand. Even think, "He says that. But I get it." Fine. Sure. You get it.

Sometime later, getting the words wrong, wasting the meaning, losing the rhyme . . .

Don't worry, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled program soon. As soon as I get home . . .

Please don't read any of the above. Thanks.

It's been real,

Q

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2002 - 2009 ZQF8

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