Sushi Beginnings and Sanctimonious Hangovers

Deli fresh sushi, and Vanilla Coke, theoretically sounds fun.
Sounds like a fun sort of lunch to enjoy on a Thursday.
Single girl sits alone in the early afternoon enjoying a little something she picked up at the supermarket while shopping with other people's credit card. And she doesn't have to share.
But there's a downside:
The reflexive indigestion common to carbonated beverages tends to remind the young lady of her luch with the not-so-pleasant smell of raw fish.

The day seemed nice and productive.
At first.
I bought that duvet I'd always wanted. And the N.E.R.D. cd, which is amazingly good because it has the lyrics, "lick on me baby, kiss on me baby, but you can't own me baby, 'cause I'm the shit." And I bought a workout video for toning my stomach. (I don't care how much I weigh, everybody deserves to be as firm as they think they could be). I tried to start doing yoga in public, but I can't do it. I don't know why. I'll do it here, in the mornings, by myself, along with a little abdominal workout, and a bowl of Smart Start cereal -- which has my 100% recommended daily allowance of iron -- and a cigarette, and not worry about sweating infront of strangers.
The dog sort of pissed me off, as usual. I'm not a dog person.
The kids were good, but they wouldn't eat. I've never met a kid who didn't like meatballs. My meatballs are good, too. They also don't like mashed potatoes.
I am, however, an excellent cook, which I didn't know before working here. My boss told me last night that grad school is a waste of time and I should just open a restaurant.
Then I had to get pushy with my little boy to make him finish his homework. It drained me -- in this yelling-at-your-boyfriend kind of way -- to have to reach over and turn off his computer and make him practice spelling for the test tomorrow and not to be able to smile.
I fixed him a bowl of icecream. Icecream doesn't fix things for me, but I know it does for some people.
I'm more of a Southern Comfort kind of girl.
I've jinxed this thing with Jon. It's not going to happen. I don't know what "it" is, but "it" was supposed to be fun, and time consuming, and a stess reliever. As it is, I have spoken too much about it, and that's the first jinx.
The second one is that I'm in love with someone else.


I can't even put this here. This is too personal for this page. You who think you know what I'm talking about are under a misconception that things are as they were when I lived in Tennessee. There are secrets I've told none of you, that are lost on a corner of slate on the patio in this backyard with my ear pressed to a phone, and my cigarette and the moon as the only two things sensing my neglect.
How misfortunate that I am the only one who lives inside my heart. It's a dynamic place. There's constant motion. Beautiful motion. And my heart is prepared to love with every part of this body I have. My fingers, arms, lips, the curve of my spine, knows how to express the joy of being with a person who satisfies my soul. They are poised for such love, but are never invited.
Tonight I'm intensely aware of the soreness in all my muscles from not having someone to hold. No: not just someone, him. He's not up for holding, though. Or truth. He'd give me anything in the world that I could think to ask him for, too. He love me. But not with himself.
I think he loves to be loved by me, too. But it's just a good feeling I give him, and it's not about me. Who I am. It's never been about me.

All the songs that I've sung for you
More often than you know,
And you're the love that I've come to
More often than I've let it show.
And I wish you would leave me.
And I wish you would go.
And I wish you didn't need me.
And I wish I didn't love you so.
Cause I just can't go on.
So, please, don't do me wrong.
I won't do you harm.
My love for you goes on, and on.
There's no one else I want beside you.
Give me a cold shoulder to cry upon.
You're never anywhere I find you.
You're never anything I rely upon.
And I wish you would leave me.
And I wish you would go.
And I wish you didn't need me.
And I wish I didn't love you so.

Saturday night there's a party at these girls' house. I can get drunk and stay there. I'll dress comfortable, find a spot near the cd player, bring a bottle of something dark, and I'll tease my insides until they run away from me and leave me alone in the morning wondering what the hell happened.
I know that hangovers are out of style now that I'm out of college, but there's a dramatic, poetic, symbolic side to me that just appreciates the putrid insanity of self-inflicted naussea as a sign of mourning that which can never be had.
I can't remember where I was going with this entry...