Saturation

I encountered literary porn this weekend. 

It was the sort of occasion demanding confrontation with an old friend - the novel. With a semi-truamatizing traveling incident leaving me stripped of my father's generous donation to the chemo-doesn't-have-to-suck-that-much fund, I had to salvage the next-best distraction. I fell in rapture over the apt lines, the descriptions "just-so". I even underlined. 

I couldn't decide if my enjoyment stemmed purely from the text itself or my recently-misplaced ability to focus on such a thing. You see, chemo steals not only one's hair, sanity, strength, will to live, but also one's ability to focus. But I suppose that has some overlap with the aforementioned. It also leaves a bad taste in one's mouth(literally). I dream of days when water tickles the tongue in cascade, the way it's supposed to. When you have the association of purity with a particular substance, subtle tricks of the senses can really do you in. My sense of smell is another devil in itself, deliberately delving itself into bouquets of fetid, sharp, and overwhelming. Truly catering to the already aromatic, airy atmosphere. And by that I mean, stuffy spaces crammed with antiseptic-coated seats and McDonald's bags. 

But enough of my senses, let us get a sense of the sensual selection of text. (The alliteration was totally necessary, ahem.)

Rand has triggered my lyric-finder. Once used predominantly to capture the angst suspended above a 3-chord melody, it has found itself restless as of late. But to find what? Lines with the right flow and the right association to be tucked away for later plastering or recitation. 

Hopefully it will remain stimulated through my next journey through the tunnel of discomfort to the eventual decompress. Remain engaged until the fat lady sings(or unhooks my IV...) The very hopeful end to an end less satisfying.

Though at the very least, please let it be an end. 

"Reasons like Seasons, They Constantly Change"

Friendship is occasional, continuous; apparent and indistinct. How do you like your coffee? Black, or diluted with milk?

Sometimes it depends on the season.

Let's examine.

The type of friendship that spans periods of blankness, when awkwardness pervades hellos and wedges distance in greeting. And then they resume, back to cuddly honeymoon periods when the time is right and a branch is extended downward. The other must make the choice to climb up, despite the steepness of the fall. Sometimes branches give the appearance of reach - a weeping willow practically begs. 

And sometimes the rigidity of growth prevents a noticeable dip. 

The importance of flexibility, fair saplings, always comes into play. Some may choose to actively stretch, some may languish and toughen. Though like trees, fair weather makes one more attractive. Affection in times of starkness is a far better test of friendship. 

Funny that without the cluster of leaves, things become more clear.

All's fair in love and abbreviations

Abbreviations: shortening of the meaning, or just the phrase?

I think back to my high school freshman boyfriend who, bless his heart, was a bit of a jump start on the affection wagon. Let me break the time line down for you like this:

Day 1-10: copious amounts of "AIM convos".

Day 10: group movie venture. hand holding. (gasp.)

Day 12: New Years' Eve. Awkward cuddling infront of friends. Awkward kiss in front of friend cheerleading the moment, who we will refer to as "the instigator".
Day 12-13:

AIM profile update:

ilu ari!! <3 1.1.05

"ilu"? First of all, what the hell is that. Secondly, if you're going to spout off bits of warmth on a public electronic forum, at least keep it classy; being 15 is no excuse.(This coming from an adherent to the "fuck bitches get money" AIM-quote-post-cult. Right.) Further, we have been dating for roughly...50 minutes. We have been "involved" for 3 days. Maybe. Hand holding and forced peck later and you love me? Uh. I wonder what you tell the lunch ladies who serve you those fries you're so jazzed about. 

What made this all the more intriguing was the lack of vocal confirmation. Sure, the kid could type 3 words (Oh sorry it was letters. Letters?! Ugh.) and post it on his "every important detail you could ever know about me ever" profile, but he was lacking the personal touch. I guess sideways hearts don't translate to speech? Must look into that. 

Obviously this blossomed into a steady, healthy relationship filled with many, many ilu's and the occasional hand grab. By that I mean, he refused to sit with me and my friends at lunch. We made out in a movie theatre about 5 times while my friend, the instigator, sat two seats over. (I was not allowed to go on "dates"). I ultimately had to bring the warm, gooey ilu-fest to an end after getting grounded. If we couldn't get hot and steamy on a Friday night, what was the point?

Crispy

I am looking for a full bodied experience. I'm not sure what that means anymore.

Should it touch shoulders while skirting ankles? Or is it one of those internal type of deals? How meta can we get with this, anyway?

I went downstairs seeking toast. what did I find? toast. slightly burnt bread with melted fat drizzled on, like a masterpiece of the mundane. I had the gall to marvel at its lack of satisfaction. Being hellbent on breaking the rules of reality, I tried a second round, hoping for a change. Toast is toast, and identical actions will garner identical outcomes. It would be ludicrous to assert otherwise. Require a dash of denial and a sprinkle of ...sublime? That will do, yes. 

Toast at 6:30am should be a sublime experience. It is decided.

The Art of Being Totally Selfish

I am not voting in the elections because it is too damn cold. (It's a popular sentiment.)
I am also terrified of the reality that my ANC(read: level of infection fighting bits) is so low a cough will send me to the hospital. If you sneeze near me, I will run for the hills.
Though there are plenty of germs lurking amidst the cushy carpeting and couches, I refuse to leave this house. (This is also probably due to the fact that I am incredibly lazy and my sweatpants are considered unacceptable outside wear, but pettiness is a bad look.)

There is actually a song illustrating my current state of affairs. Please see Lyrics - Frank Sinatra, "Luck be a Lady" (replace "luck" with "health")

Lyrics of note:
you might forget your manners
you might refuse to stay
and so the best I can do is pray

They insist I should be wearing a face mask to class, and despite my little HEY-I-HAVE-CANCER front page fiasco, I want to operate under the delusion that (most) people don't know. I like to think that my efforts to assimilate via appearance(read: wear make up and brush my hair like a normal, non-hopeless person) are not futile and I imagine tossing a SARS-scare-era face mask into the mix may upset that. I understand that this means I am "asking for it" and behaving in a counter-productive way (Do I want to get sick and have to drag on the chemo-ing? Do I miss having hair?), but goddammit I want to feel normal. This is a selfish and (probably expensive) desire, but it is one of the few remnants of "old self"(read: pre-cancer) feelings that I possess, so I will tether myself to it like a tree they're about to tear down. Cancer and related issues: bulldozer.

So I will continue to not draw attention to myself and instead, purell the shiz out of my surrounding areas... and refuse to leave my house, save for class. Balance? Maybe. Ridiculous? Certainly. Effective? I hope so.