more pretending that i don't care.
In peeling an onion on April 30, 2009 at 5:20 pm
I guess I could blame myself for allowing this situation to develop. No, not the act of Ryan meeting Sarah. Or the alleged physical contact between them. The rational part of myself–which wields more control over my life than one might imagine–knows that this has nothing to do with me….even if the tiny (yet powerful) worst enemy portion of my mind–the one that can’t meet my reflection in the mirror without feeling sick and disappointed–has decided that any bad situation is always, inarguably my fault.
But it is my fault that I have spent the last two weeks pretending as if I didn’t care about any of this. It would have been completely acceptable for me to ask Ryan a few things. Like, “What were you doing that night I want to you apartment to check on you?” and “Who was the girl I saw you with on Damen?” Even an all-encompassing inquiry like “What did you do while we were apart?” Read the rest of this entry »
i swear., no you-know-what flu
In peeling an onion on April 29, 2009 at 3:33 am
Early in the evening, Cheryl raises the question, “Where’s Ryan?”
“I’m taking the night off from him.”
She laughs with disbelief. “Yeah, right…Isn’t Saturday on of your ‘scheduled days.’”
I shrug my shoulders. “Whatever. No one said I always have to hang out with him on his terms. I’m still free.” I silently hope that she believes this sentiment, because I’m not convinced.
But a few hours and an unmeasurable amount of liquor later, I’m stumbling out to the pay phone across Division. During my last trip to the ladies’ room, a frightening thought occurred to me: What if–in my absence–Ryan had another girl over at his place? Yeah, we’re “together” again. But I’ve learned in the past few months that “together” means nothing more than a guarantee of regular sexual contact and occasional help with difficult household chores. Read the rest of this entry »
the agony of "the better person."
In short fiction on April 23, 2009 at 3:33 am
This is a re-write of a story I wrote last fall.
It’s late when I get on my bike to ride home.
My eyes are bleary and dry. If I pause for the slightest moment, I can feel the rotation of the earth. Some might attribute this to a handful of mixed drinks and a half-pack of smoked cigarettes. I decide that the late hour is the real culprit.
I was sitting in the bar for a long time, trying to listen to my friends’ conversations. All of my concentration was required to formulate appropriate responses to their statements and anecdotes. Encouraging smiles. Concerned frowns. Occasional moderate rolling of the eyes. I gave the desired opinions after asking the expected questions.
I know I should have left a long time ago. But drink after drink after another drink, I was still sitting at the table, masking frustration with forced giggling. You wandered around behind my eyes, checking the corners for hidden gifts. Some nerve was mysteriously struck. Maybe someone mentioned your name. Or there was another boy in the bar with a tiny resemblance to you. Just as likely, I might have been thinking about you all day without realizing it. Read the rest of this entry »
always happy to resume my popular role.
In peeling an onion on April 16, 2009 at 6:40 pm
My mom told me that whiskey makes a man mean. “But you don’t have to worry about a guy who just drinks beer.”
Consuming more than 1.5 beers gives me a stomachache.
I can’t drink vodka any more, since the “incident” last summer. Even the slightest whiff of a friend’s Stoli and Red Bull evokes the insides-turning-outsides sensation of having one’s stomach pumped. And I don’t even want to discuss the endless pitchers of vodka-and-cherry-Kool-Aid I sucked down on my 23rd birthday. The subsequent weepy vomiting episode left an unappealing scarlet stain around the perimeter of my mouth. Read the rest of this entry »
thankful for the extra large bottle of Advil.
In here and now on April 14, 2009 at 8:35 pm
I swear I haven’t quit blogging…but a vicious case of strep throat has forced me to fall asleep as soon as I walk in the house after work every night. Yeah, yeah…I would love to use a sick day, but new assistant + big important meetings= a bad time to take a sick day.
I should be back on track tomorrow…I will now resume watching television shows on Hulu.
xo
Amanda
grape medicine and the amateur detective.
In peeling an onion on April 9, 2009 at 3:33 am
The first call yanks me out of a public bathroom, where I am gingerly wiping blood off of my chin.
I practically roll onto the floor as I try to pull the phone out from its temporary home under my bed. My sleepy medicine head thought that this location would somehow drown out any early morning ringing.
Drugs, even the theoretically harmless Walgreen’s variety, always allow one to draw conclusions that defy all logic. Read the rest of this entry »
ripped from the headlines.
In short fiction on April 2, 2009 at 3:33 am
I found myself thinking about this story as I feel asleep last night. So I had to work on it today.
I once had a boyfriend who seemed to break EVERYTHING. I found myself googling things like “how to reattach a shower head” and “stereo is mysteriously silent.”
Here it is (originally written last fall…spruced up/revised today):
When P. was feeling particularly dramatic–a regular occurrence–he would exclaim things like, “I destroy everything I touch!” Of course his concept of “everything” was merely figurative. Relationships, situations, and ideas.
The thing was…P. did destroy most actual, literal objects. Read the rest of this entry »
