it's 1:07 am, on November 05, 2001 - bobby and remy, revised.
~
I've decided to update again; less because I have something to say and more, for the act of updating.
I told Al once, updating yourself is always exciting.
This is a random thing: I think I'm feeling my spirit animal tonight. I bet Pete is self-sufficient to a fault; dude, like, yeah.
I never figured out Al's spirit animal.
--but that's not what I was going to talk about. I was going to talk about, the way the internet has stunted my emotional growth. I have become a more confident, more sure-of-myself person, but I have done this at the expense of my emotional growth. I have grown within, and forgotten the relationships around me.
I'm listening to 'I know'. It's still a love song. It's still tragic.
See, I can't seem to, to. I can't seem to do it, whatever it is. I have taken up words as my cause, my crusade; I am going to be a writer. I am going to work in dispatch, or, for an airline, and all of that, and I'm going to be a writer. But. To absorb words, I've given up on things that aren't words.
Does that make sense? I'm not even sure.
This song is called, 'never is a promise'. It feels like Fiona Apple, tonight. I feel as if I should be smoking.
You know those candies, rockets, that you eat and they tear up the roof of your mouth something fierce? Little candies that are primarily sugar in the shape of little drug pills, and they come in a plastic wrapper, all in a row? Those. I've eaten a lot of those in the last few days. I think I might be, um, up all night again, and that's not good, not from a 'go to school the next day' perspective. But I'm going. Maybe what my mind needs is just a shock and trauma.
Fiona apple just said, 'my fever burns me deeper than I've ever shown'. I think, I understand. She says 'my'.
Some people maybe aren't meant to be with other people. I don't know.
Fiona Apple affects me.
Did I tell you, Sue has herself a married man? I want to make sure he doesn't jerk her around at all. I mean, of the people that I've known in the world, of *all* the people I've known in the world, she deserves someone... uncomplicated.
Is it just that I want someone complicated? No, that's wrong. I don't want someone complicated. Maybe, sometimes, I want some*thing* complicated.
'If I need you, I'll just use your simple name'
Bobby stares his glasses down, stares into the rear view mirror and watches Remy sleep. The sunglasses, bobby thinks, are a bit much, and he snorts. They're in the middle of ass-backwards nowhere, and still Remy is covering his eyes.
The road sign says, 'hurt'. Some time, somewhere, Bobby wants to find the road sign that says 'comfort' and get a picture. He didn't know there was a town called 'Hurt'. It doesn't surprise him. They drive by.
There's something about road trips-- he tries it on his tongue. "There's something about road trips."
Remy sits up in the back, rubs his eyes blearily. "Are we there yet?"
It's not that Bobby can't feel his hands. It's just, easier not to. He chuckles. "I thought you'd grown past that, sweetheart."
Remy shrugs, and climbs over the seat, puts the seatbelt on. "Where are we, anyway?"
"Dunno."
"So what is it?"
Bobby is confused. "What?"
"What is it 'bout road trips?"
"Oh." He shrugs. "Dunno." He's been feeling this driving a lot longer than they've been driving, and it's almost too hard to remember what was left.
~
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