Aug. 23rd, 2010 12:02 am
abigailnicole: (dreams)

When I was 14 my history teacher described a movie he had seen, unable to recall the name. "You would know it, Nicole," he said. It was requiem for a dream. I haven't seen it, but it is the type of movie I would see, in that whole classroom only I would have, but I still don't know why Muncy singled me out.

Last night before falling asleep I has the strangest sensation. In that half-dream state an old woman walked up to me as I knelt in the darkness. She placed her hand on my forehead and pushed me over. It was the sensation of falling that woke me, the kick, the moment when you lose all control.

I'm not sleeping well yet

All the words I want to say come rushing out in my sleep, I see so many images and gain no meaning from them. I imagine running into old friends I haven't seen in a while, hugging them in a crowded street. I see myself stranded in a bar in south america, pleading for a phone line, calling you, Amanda. I am lost, I am a stranger here, get me back home, I say, but the connection is broken before you reply.

Tonight I rode my bike home in the pouring rain, holding a hand to my face to shield my eyes. It was light when we left campus, a drizzle that thickened before we hit willow, left me soaked and squinting at traffic. When we got home Evian and I stripped down and jumped in the pool in our underwear, turned on the light to give the water that magic green cast, like some alien home. Between the purple-storm-light sky and the neon water it was magic, floating on our backs, watching a lightning storm, while our neighbor played loud big-band jazz. "I didn't know this was on my bucket list but I can cross it off now" I told Evian.

"I'm really glad I decided not to live alone," she said.

Later we watched Mad Men with Bailey, drank coffee, I baked cookies and we ate the leftover dough. After mad men it was star trek, with Evian in Faine's pink snuggie, the rain intermittent and keeping us calm. I am far from home but I watch the stories of my mother with my girlfriends, I am a stranger here myself but I have inherited furniture that has been loved, I may be soaking wet but I am not alone.

I am grateful for all of these things.


Apr. 19th, 2009 01:33 am
abigailnicole: (Default)
Yesterday I went to the aquarium. The Audubon Aquarium of the Americas, to be more precise. As a rule, I like aquariums, and this is a good aquarium. The first exhibit is a coral reef, bright colors, loots of fish, lots of signs. They have an amazon rainforest exhibit with parrots and an anaconda, trees and iguanas and big foliage and lights and color. There's jellyfish, and sea horses, and penguins, and sea otters, and frogs, and even a mississippi river exhibit (almost as bad as the river Ankh) with a white alligator.

But in the middle of the Aquarium is a big tank. You can see it from various points around the aqaurium, but you don't really look at it till the end. At one point all you can see is some metal poles sticking down into the water, and there's a circular piece of glass on the floor. If you stand on it you can watch dark shapes swim under you, which is an unsettling experience. And at the end of the walk-through you can see under the water to this exhibit--it has no colorful signs or lights telling you what the fish in it are . It has a small sign that says: "Gulf of Mexico" exhibit and lists the sponsors--oil companies. Inside this tank there are no plants, no colorful fish. There's a lifeless, sandy bottom, and some big rusty pipes sticking out of the floor--the feet of the oil rigs, I suppose. In this tank are giant, mean, ugly, gray fish. Regular gray sharks, nurse sharks, sting rays, big gray fish with names I don't know. While the rest of the aquarium is comforting, educational, colorful, well-lit, this exhibit is sketchy, mean, full of dangerous animals, and frankly just terrifying. It's unsettling. What I Learned Yesterday: The Gulf of Mexico is a terrible place.

Last night was French Quarter Fest, which I didn't go to but my roommates did. They came in at 3:30 crying while I slept. Time to roll over, make amends. In a sea of essays and electrochemistry, as well.
abigailnicole: (Default)
We have decreed Cocktail Hour.

this is because on Neil Gaiman's blog he linked to pretty dumb things and she says, of the cocktail hour:

"...the 1950s were also the golden age of the cocktail hour. Ah, the cocktail hour, that metonymic moment when adults shuffled children to their beds and were thus given free rein to enjoy Old Fashioneds and Side Cars, smoke cigarettes, snap their fingers to cool Jazz and generally be adults. Little marks the difference between adult and child like the cocktail hour, and little embodies the erosion of the privileges of adulthood like the gradual disappearance of that golden hour."

I read this sentence (paragraph, really) aloud to my golden roommates with their matching burnished and pale gold hairs and they spoke thusly:

Carrie: Fuck it, I wish we had a cocktail hour.
Bailey: Yeah, I wanna do that!

The trouble is deciding what time this will be. Also how we are gong to dress and make drinks. We must mix them elegantly, involving strange organic teas and possibly inserting vodka into oranges using needles for insulin. (Bailey is firmly against this idea. I think it's a nature-made screwdriver. None of us drink screwdrivers; I just like the idea of a drink that needs to be made with a hypodermic needle.) Possibly my experiments into Earl Grey iced tea are the precursors of the cocktail hour? We shall decree it Fridays, one to two pm, skirts and nachos required. Or perhaps it's four to five am Thursdays, when everyone staggers back to the room from the library, other rooms, tights ripped but stil intact. This is a lie; we do not do these things. O DEAR READERS. when should cocktail hour be?

This break from studying for a test at 9am in the morning, and writing half a research paper due tomorrow, brought to you by a lady with a broken flash drive and some angiosperms in a cup.

"USE SPORES! Have thorns. Have MOTILE BABIES. I realize I'm talking to a room full of people wearing headphones."
abigailnicole: (Default)


Whole Wide World - Wreckless Eric

I feel kind of liberated, actually. Now I don't have to put up with his bullshit and I can say what I want without fear of him breaking up for me.


abigailnicole: (Default)

March 2013


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