as the alcohol drained the days

Wednesday, April 11, 2001
@ home posted: 2048 hrs

i took the 405 and drilled a stake down into your center,

Dead air on the phone is bad. The perfect silence is only achievable in person. Distance and time don’t provide enough of a blanket to dull the roar of uncertainty. Especially not when you’re aching to bridge those boundaries and borders (as The Get Up Kids might say). Rather, the time and space only catch bad winds and billow up into some dark, static laundry detergent commercial where all the linens toss about uncomfortably on the clothes line.

and stated that it’s never ever been better than this.

Specifics can offend even at their most objective, so I’ll stay away. The last thing I want to appear as being is the judge, jury, executioner, and publisher. Lets at least be specific about one thing: Jillian. I’m completely falling for her.

i hung my favorite shirt on the floorboard,

It’s odd to me that she seems to be as nervous as I about the situation. Or, less about the “situation”… I don’t see it as that. Yes, for some it may seem weird–the meeting, seeing each other for such a short time, continuing and nurturing our relationship since she’s been back home almost daily through e-mail, IM, and telephone conversation, buying a ticket to New York for May 11th, moving her down here the next day. But I’m not nervous about that. I don’t think she is either. Too much. It’s more that this distance and time might change one of our minds. Honestly, I don’t worry about my mind.

wrinkled up from pulling, pushing, and tasting.

I hated it tonight when she went silent on the phone. The first phone call in two days… and with the quality of it, we’d might as well say three days. I guess you could say it had a certain quality to it (above just the fact that I actually got to hear Jillian’s voice), but it wasn’t the kind I’d’ve liked to fill the lack. Maybe I caused her silence, maybe she thought I was mad at her. When I said, “I know, I know, I know,” did I sound mad? I didn’t mean to. I’m usually so much more careful with words… what happened? Slight intonations, this word or that? Deeper meanings all around. I give credit. I think she’d notice if I substituted one word in an e-mail for another in an attempt to avoid a deeper conversation into the meanings.

you keep twisting the truth

I have a hard time when she doesn’t tell me what’s on her mind… the dead air speaks so loudly of her need and want to say something. Cover it up and give me something to build with. (Dangly, dangly.) I’m sorry. How can I explain?

that keeps me thrown askew.

I’d’ve wanted to laugh out loud when she said, “I hope so,” to my, “I still adore you, you know,”… if only she hadn’t be so serious sounding. What more can I say than that? We can go round and round defining words, making up new ones, playing semantics, twisting phrases, laughing at their new meanings, but when it comes to what I’m feeling about her it’s rather simple and solid: I admire, adore, cherish, want her.

misguided by the 405 ’cause it lead me to an alcoholic summer.

I’m drinking a small, tiny bit tonight. A wine cooler. That’s it. I sat at work today thinking, “I’d really like to get drunk tonight,” but then I thought of what I’d be saying tomorrow morning at work, “Fucking hell… what dumbass thought of doing that?” And I’d be forced to point at only myself. So many weeks without drink… what brings me back now?

i missed the exit to your parents’ house hours ago.

Gray areas. They’re like the dead air static on the telephone… they could go either way. The potential for greatness, but, on the flipside, the potential for more blackness. I couldn’t even hear her breath. Silent plastic telephone. “Hello?” We could dive into that ocean of dirty silence and be sucked to the nonexistant bottom… lack of motion is death.

red wine and the cigarettes:

I lay on the grass smoking after the short conversation trying to find some way to quantify it in words. The weight of my feelings, the razor of my worries and doubts, the oppression of the distance and the mocking laughter of the time left in conquering it… added to her own worries and feelings and doubts. Insecurity squared.

hide your bad habits underneath the patio.

Beyond everything else, though, there’s the sun on the horizon… rising, not setting. There’s the certainty (barring anything catastrophic) that we will be together again soon.

Have I said everything? Will she understand that this is a positive entry? Dark undertones, maybe… but ultimately bright as the midday Texas sun. Optimistic. Trusting.

Italicized song lyrics: Death Cab for Cutie’s “405”

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