I never hid the fact that I was leaving the house that evening with the sole intention of going to a friend's to make brownies whose main ingredient would be marijuana.
"Why don't you bring me home one?" my mother joked.
"I will be bringing some home," I told her, "but do you seriously want me to save you one?"
Since our conversation earlier in the year, in which (through my response) it became overwhelmingly apparent that I had partaken in recreational drug use on more than one occasion, I have been incredibly honest with my parents about the majority of my illicit activity.
I brought the brownies home later that evening, and while my mother has yet to partake, I have somehow become a supplier to my entire family. Last weekend I gave several to my aunt and today I gave one to my uncle's common-law wife. What is perhaps even more disturbing is that I did all of this in front of my Grandmother.
"Do not eat the whole thing in one sitting." I cautioned. "In fact, I am only going to give you half of one and I don't even want you to eat half of that in one sitting. And wait at least two hours before eating another one. It will take some time to kick in and you will regret the second brownie after the first one starts to work."
I never thought the day would come when I would be lecturing my aunts and uncles about proper safety precautions when it came to ingesting pot-laden brownies.
6/17/2007
6/10/2007
Plethora of Posts
Dear Internet,
I am higher than a fucking kite right now. That's a funny word - kite - I wonder who made that word up. But that is unimportant - what is important is that I am stoned.
Stoned. Stoned. Stoned.
09/06/07
"I would love to!" I exclaimed, and was more than a little surprised to hear myself say it. I have never emceed at a wedding before and generally find myself uncomfortable in situations that involve speaking in front of crowds. Also, I do not speak Swedish and that could prove to be a problem.
07/06/07
My father and I met with a real estate agent last week. He was a balding, elderly gentleman who had sunspots intermixed with patches of white hair on his shiny head.
I was not thrilled that my father had called in the real estate agent when he did - the house was a mess, and I did not have adequate time to change out of my "work clothes" (read: pajamas) and into something more appropriate. I had wanted the house to sparkle with cleanliness and general awesomeness before we presented it to a realtor, and I generally enjoy a chance to shower so that I am clean when I meet new people. However, my father insisted that none of these things mattered in the grand scheme of things
31/05/07
"What is this for?" I asked her, holding up a strange looking device.
"Mosquito bites. It produces a small electrostatic current that causes the bite to stop itching," she explained.
"Oh," I said. "Does it hurt?"
"No. You can't even feel it."
I was curious as to whether or not this was actually true. And so, in the sake of science, I put the device against my sister's arm and initiated an electrostatic current.
"Ouch!" She cried, "What the hell did you do that for?!"
"LIAR! You lied! You said it did not hurt!"
16/05/07
Our conversations are never boring, that is for sure.
"I do not know," I told her, "I do not think that I could do it. I mean, I am relatively sure I could receive, but fairly confident that I could not reciprocate."
14/05/07
You know it is going to be a good story because he begins it by saying "So I was banging your friend Ashley..."
12/05/07
This morning I burped for what seemed like an hour. In reality it lasted mere seconds, but it felt like much more time had elapsed.
11/05/07
I am higher than a fucking kite right now. That's a funny word - kite - I wonder who made that word up. But that is unimportant - what is important is that I am stoned.
Stoned. Stoned. Stoned.
09/06/07
"I would love to!" I exclaimed, and was more than a little surprised to hear myself say it. I have never emceed at a wedding before and generally find myself uncomfortable in situations that involve speaking in front of crowds. Also, I do not speak Swedish and that could prove to be a problem.
07/06/07
My father and I met with a real estate agent last week. He was a balding, elderly gentleman who had sunspots intermixed with patches of white hair on his shiny head.
I was not thrilled that my father had called in the real estate agent when he did - the house was a mess, and I did not have adequate time to change out of my "work clothes" (read: pajamas) and into something more appropriate. I had wanted the house to sparkle with cleanliness and general awesomeness before we presented it to a realtor, and I generally enjoy a chance to shower so that I am clean when I meet new people. However, my father insisted that none of these things mattered in the grand scheme of things
31/05/07
"What is this for?" I asked her, holding up a strange looking device.
"Mosquito bites. It produces a small electrostatic current that causes the bite to stop itching," she explained.
"Oh," I said. "Does it hurt?"
"No. You can't even feel it."
I was curious as to whether or not this was actually true. And so, in the sake of science, I put the device against my sister's arm and initiated an electrostatic current.
"Ouch!" She cried, "What the hell did you do that for?!"
"LIAR! You lied! You said it did not hurt!"
16/05/07
Our conversations are never boring, that is for sure.
"I do not know," I told her, "I do not think that I could do it. I mean, I am relatively sure I could receive, but fairly confident that I could not reciprocate."
14/05/07
You know it is going to be a good story because he begins it by saying "So I was banging your friend Ashley..."
12/05/07
This morning I burped for what seemed like an hour. In reality it lasted mere seconds, but it felt like much more time had elapsed.
11/05/07
5/28/2007
The pharmacist at the local drugstore reminds me of Wayne Newton. Every time I go in to get a prescription filled I cannot help but hum a little bit of Danke Schoen. I am still not entirely convinced that Wayne Newton hasn't given up show business in favour of pursuing his dream of running a relatively small pharmacy in Southern Ontario. His voice even has a similar cadence to Wayne's and, while in reality he is explaining possible symptoms and saying things like "rash" and "palpitations of the the heart," I imagine that he is crooning to me in a low, sensuous voice.
5/12/2007
Because apparently he believes an angry stomach is an indicator of a future contraction of an STD
He wouldn't stop talking about poop, and not just his own poop either.
"Did you feel that?" I asked him, in response to his excrement anecdotes.
"Feel what? My gut is rumbling."
"That's not your gut," I explained, "that is our friendship evolving. You just brought us to a whole new level."
"I think my gut is angry with me," he said, ignoring me completely.
"That is probably your body's way of telling you that you are going to get the scootes later."
"What is that?" He asked, "Some sort of STD?"
"No, it is diarrhea, but close."
"Did you feel that?" I asked him, in response to his excrement anecdotes.
"Feel what? My gut is rumbling."
"That's not your gut," I explained, "that is our friendship evolving. You just brought us to a whole new level."
"I think my gut is angry with me," he said, ignoring me completely.
"That is probably your body's way of telling you that you are going to get the scootes later."
"What is that?" He asked, "Some sort of STD?"
"No, it is diarrhea, but close."
5/02/2007
Rejects
There was poop. On the floor. Gross, runny poop on the living room floor, which is carpet.
I'd spent the past twenty minutes thinking my sister had dropped one hell of a bomb in our shared bathroom, prior to leaving for work, when really it was poop. Dog poop. Yuck.
I stared at it for several minutes, t-shirt hiked up over my nose in an attempt to keep the smell at bay. Could I pretend that I just hadn't seen it? Yes. Yes I could.
- 4/4/07
Sick of the tyrannical oppression of the fenced in yard, the dogs decided to escape into the woods.
Confused at their sudden absence, I stood on my parents patio, scratching my head, as I waited for my brain to kick in. When a combination of whistling and calling their names failed to draw them back, I tried yelling out invectives at random.
The woods are beautiful, but they become exponentially less so with each additional minute that you are forced to trek through the near-frozen mud wearing your brother's Crocs.
- 4/11/07
The mouse, no matter how hard I stared at it, did not get any less dead or any less smelly.
- 4/13/07
I called him, crying. "I miss you," I whispered into the receiver. My confession was met with silence, and I closed my eyes wishing for a way to take it back.
"I miss you, too" he finally answered.
- 4/19/07
Looking back on it now, I have spent the past two years trying to distance myself from everyone I've met here. Slowly, I stopped returning phone calls, went out with less frequency, and started spending more and more time out of the city. It wasn't until yesterday that I really stopped to think about it. And now I am suddenly overcome with a complete and utter sense of regret. It's done now. It's over. There's no going back.
- 4/26/07
I'd spent the past twenty minutes thinking my sister had dropped one hell of a bomb in our shared bathroom, prior to leaving for work, when really it was poop. Dog poop. Yuck.
I stared at it for several minutes, t-shirt hiked up over my nose in an attempt to keep the smell at bay. Could I pretend that I just hadn't seen it? Yes. Yes I could.
- 4/4/07
Sick of the tyrannical oppression of the fenced in yard, the dogs decided to escape into the woods.
Confused at their sudden absence, I stood on my parents patio, scratching my head, as I waited for my brain to kick in. When a combination of whistling and calling their names failed to draw them back, I tried yelling out invectives at random.
The woods are beautiful, but they become exponentially less so with each additional minute that you are forced to trek through the near-frozen mud wearing your brother's Crocs.
- 4/11/07
The mouse, no matter how hard I stared at it, did not get any less dead or any less smelly.
- 4/13/07
I called him, crying. "I miss you," I whispered into the receiver. My confession was met with silence, and I closed my eyes wishing for a way to take it back.
"I miss you, too" he finally answered.
- 4/19/07
Looking back on it now, I have spent the past two years trying to distance myself from everyone I've met here. Slowly, I stopped returning phone calls, went out with less frequency, and started spending more and more time out of the city. It wasn't until yesterday that I really stopped to think about it. And now I am suddenly overcome with a complete and utter sense of regret. It's done now. It's over. There's no going back.
- 4/26/07
4/06/2007
Easter and my colon: a love story
Since Easter is the time of year when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ, I felt it was the perfect time to attempt to resurrect my bowels through fasting and a series of flushes. If you have ever experienced a flushing of the bowels you will know that it is not all fun and games. In fact, I can assure you that none of it is fun and games. The kinds of things that exit your body, via your rectum, are both disturbing and awe-inspiring. Which brings us to this morning...
I sat there, on the toilet, expressing my dismay at the kinds of noises, smells, and semi-solids my body was producing. "Oh god, that's disgusting!" I repeated over and over again.
And then, suddenly, my litany of exclamations was stopped when I heard a voice, heavy with sleep, ask "Megan? Is that you?"
No, I wanted to say. No, it is not me. I am a burglar who has broken into your house with the sole intention of using your bathroom in the most disturbing way.
The truth is that I had not actually known that my sister was home. We share a common bathroom, accessible through both of our rooms, and I immediately felt a wave of guilt for the aftermath she was now surely to experience.
"Megan?" she asked again. "What are you doing?"
"Ummm..." I paused, "I am just going to the bathroom."
After that, I decided to use the bathroom upstairs and refrain from giving a play-by-play to anyone who might be within listening-distance.
I sat there, on the toilet, expressing my dismay at the kinds of noises, smells, and semi-solids my body was producing. "Oh god, that's disgusting!" I repeated over and over again.
And then, suddenly, my litany of exclamations was stopped when I heard a voice, heavy with sleep, ask "Megan? Is that you?"
No, I wanted to say. No, it is not me. I am a burglar who has broken into your house with the sole intention of using your bathroom in the most disturbing way.
The truth is that I had not actually known that my sister was home. We share a common bathroom, accessible through both of our rooms, and I immediately felt a wave of guilt for the aftermath she was now surely to experience.
"Megan?" she asked again. "What are you doing?"
"Ummm..." I paused, "I am just going to the bathroom."
After that, I decided to use the bathroom upstairs and refrain from giving a play-by-play to anyone who might be within listening-distance.
4/01/2007
Save As Draft
There was only one egg left in the refridgerator and I was unsure that I wanted to limit my future meal options by wasting it on pancakes.
"Don't worry," I said to the dog. "The eggs are optional, I think." And it was mostly true.
3.21.07
It is the morning after and I am still drinking.
"I don't know that is a good idea." he said to me, trying to take the bottle from my hand.
"Shhhhhh...... I am working." I don't know what I meant at the time, and I know even less now.
3.24.07
I announced to the room, "My name is Megan and I am here for kicks." My declaration was met with silence and I briefly wondered if I had taken the wrong approach to my introduction.
3.25.07
"Her style is similar to that of Lauryn Hill," I stopped for a second, "that is to say if Lauryn Hill were a white, British, Jew who had a bit of a drinking problem."
3.28.07
We sat in her room giggling and talking for hours.
"What would you do if you were dating a guy who you thought was perfect. Gorgeous, well-mannered, thoughtful, honest, faithful, rich, but the catch is he only ever wanted to have anal sex. What would you do?" She asked seriously.
"Frequently?"
She nodded in response.
"I don't know. My rectum is the one thing on my body that I generally try to avoid having things inserted into. That is a tough call. Can I fake it?"
3.30.07
"Don't worry," I said to the dog. "The eggs are optional, I think." And it was mostly true.
3.21.07
It is the morning after and I am still drinking.
"I don't know that is a good idea." he said to me, trying to take the bottle from my hand.
"Shhhhhh...... I am working." I don't know what I meant at the time, and I know even less now.
3.24.07
I announced to the room, "My name is Megan and I am here for kicks." My declaration was met with silence and I briefly wondered if I had taken the wrong approach to my introduction.
3.25.07
"Her style is similar to that of Lauryn Hill," I stopped for a second, "that is to say if Lauryn Hill were a white, British, Jew who had a bit of a drinking problem."
3.28.07
We sat in her room giggling and talking for hours.
"What would you do if you were dating a guy who you thought was perfect. Gorgeous, well-mannered, thoughtful, honest, faithful, rich, but the catch is he only ever wanted to have anal sex. What would you do?" She asked seriously.
"Frequently?"
She nodded in response.
"I don't know. My rectum is the one thing on my body that I generally try to avoid having things inserted into. That is a tough call. Can I fake it?"
3.30.07
3/21/2007
Drafts
Looking back on it, I think I may have been an odd child. Ninth grade gym class required the creation of a dance routine. Why? I am not entirely sure. Born leader that I am, I told my group of four other girls that we would reenact a scene from the motion picture The Full Monty. Of course, we left the nudity to the professionals (which one member of the group would later become).
I followed up my highly successful ninth grade dance routine with my ever memorable Risky Business-themed routine of tenth grade. It involved underwear, dress shirts, socks, and a whole lot of sliding across the wooden gym floor.
2.23.07
"The Canada Revenue Agency is scrambling to fix a computer glitch that is preventing people from filing online tax returns and it could effect you, too." The TV anchorman announced.
"I really don't understand how Canadian tax returns could effect U2," she said.
I paused for a minute, making sure I had heard her right. "Did you really just say that?" I asked.
3.7.07
"I bet you rode the short bus to school, didn't you?" he laughed.
"I did ride the short bus to school. What are you getting at?"
"Are you serious? I was just joking. You really went to school on the special bus?"
"Not the special bus, the mini-bus. My bus driver's name was Prim" I explained.
"Awwwww, muffin."
"I don't understand. What is so funny? For three years, I took the mini-bus to elementary school." By this point in time, I was beyond confused.
"Everyone knows that only the mentally challenged children ride the short bus to school." I narrowed my eyes at him in an effort to show him my contempt.
"My elementary school only had three developmentally challenged children: Amanda, Andrew, and Jessica. They were all in wheelchairs and I used to play with them at recess."
"I'm sure you did."
"I just want you to know that I am going to kill you in your sleep tonight" I told him.
3.9.07
There are surprisingly few things to do as you wait, with your parents, for a tow truck to come pick up your vehicle. My mom spent most of our hour long wait glaring at me when, after voicing her need for a bathroom, I directed her towards an open field.
3.17.07
I followed up my highly successful ninth grade dance routine with my ever memorable Risky Business-themed routine of tenth grade. It involved underwear, dress shirts, socks, and a whole lot of sliding across the wooden gym floor.
2.23.07
"The Canada Revenue Agency is scrambling to fix a computer glitch that is preventing people from filing online tax returns and it could effect you, too." The TV anchorman announced.
"I really don't understand how Canadian tax returns could effect U2," she said.
I paused for a minute, making sure I had heard her right. "Did you really just say that?" I asked.
3.7.07
"I bet you rode the short bus to school, didn't you?" he laughed.
"I did ride the short bus to school. What are you getting at?"
"Are you serious? I was just joking. You really went to school on the special bus?"
"Not the special bus, the mini-bus. My bus driver's name was Prim" I explained.
"Awwwww, muffin."
"I don't understand. What is so funny? For three years, I took the mini-bus to elementary school." By this point in time, I was beyond confused.
"Everyone knows that only the mentally challenged children ride the short bus to school." I narrowed my eyes at him in an effort to show him my contempt.
"My elementary school only had three developmentally challenged children: Amanda, Andrew, and Jessica. They were all in wheelchairs and I used to play with them at recess."
"I'm sure you did."
"I just want you to know that I am going to kill you in your sleep tonight" I told him.
3.9.07
There are surprisingly few things to do as you wait, with your parents, for a tow truck to come pick up your vehicle. My mom spent most of our hour long wait glaring at me when, after voicing her need for a bathroom, I directed her towards an open field.
3.17.07
3/14/2007
They just didn't know by what
Today a transport helped me accept Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Saviour when, upon driving to school with all my windows down, it drove by me, baptizing me with a shower of muddy water. Immediately, I was filled with the holy spirit, or maybe it was disgust. Regardless, every where I went in the school that day, people could tell that I had been touched.
3/04/2007
99 Problems
Do you think Jay-Z made a list and counted all of his problems before coming out with the song? And, if so, do you think they were real problems, or just silly things like "I spilled mustard on my favourite pants"?
3/03/2007
Drafts
I sat in the bathtub, contemplating my own knees. They are full of scars from the numerous scrapes and cuts they have endured over the years, but they are good knees. They are the only knees I have ever known, of course, so I really have nothing to compare them to.
I am startled out of my reverie when the cat jumps up onto the side of the bathtub and begins lapping up my bathwater. I glare at him and silently pray that he does not slip and fall in.
18/02/07
My parents washing machine sings a song when it has finished each load. So overjoyed with completing its task, it cannot help but play a little tune to celebrate its accomplishments. "Look!" it cries with excitement. "Come look at these clothes that I have just cleaned!"
22/02/07
For a while now I have been the considerate sister. The sister who, upon noticing that half of her new shampoo and conditioner has mysteriously vanished over night, went out and bought a second set of shampoo and conditioner so that the only other person using the shower would not have to "borrow" anymore.
Today that changed. I used my sister's shampoo. And you know what? I am totally going to use it again tomorrow.
25/02/07
"Dakota Fanning," I declared.
"You would cast Dakota Fanning in the role of a male court attorny?" my professor laughed. "What about the second role? The sheriff?"
"Dakota Fanning in both roles," I replied with conviction.
"And what inspired you to cast Dakota Fanning in those roles?"
"She seems to be in almost every movie these days, and I think maybe this play could be her chance to break free of all the stereotypes she is currently being subjected to. She will shatter boundaries and usher in a new age of theatre. It will be glorious."
My new goal in life: talk about Dakota Fanning as often as possible during my English Seminar.
01/03/07
I am startled out of my reverie when the cat jumps up onto the side of the bathtub and begins lapping up my bathwater. I glare at him and silently pray that he does not slip and fall in.
18/02/07
My parents washing machine sings a song when it has finished each load. So overjoyed with completing its task, it cannot help but play a little tune to celebrate its accomplishments. "Look!" it cries with excitement. "Come look at these clothes that I have just cleaned!"
22/02/07
For a while now I have been the considerate sister. The sister who, upon noticing that half of her new shampoo and conditioner has mysteriously vanished over night, went out and bought a second set of shampoo and conditioner so that the only other person using the shower would not have to "borrow" anymore.
Today that changed. I used my sister's shampoo. And you know what? I am totally going to use it again tomorrow.
25/02/07
"Dakota Fanning," I declared.
"You would cast Dakota Fanning in the role of a male court attorny?" my professor laughed. "What about the second role? The sheriff?"
"Dakota Fanning in both roles," I replied with conviction.
"And what inspired you to cast Dakota Fanning in those roles?"
"She seems to be in almost every movie these days, and I think maybe this play could be her chance to break free of all the stereotypes she is currently being subjected to. She will shatter boundaries and usher in a new age of theatre. It will be glorious."
My new goal in life: talk about Dakota Fanning as often as possible during my English Seminar.
01/03/07
3/01/2007
S-M-R-T
When you first think of it, all you can see is how awesome it would be to put every single article of clothing you own on at once. What you don't stop to consider is how hot approximately 45 shirts, 3 sweatshirts, and 14 pairs of pants will be. You also fail to realize that that much clothing will provide you with restricted movement, and thus taking off the items will take more than twice the time it took to put them on.
I have learned many things since my first year of University. However, none of them have been academic.
I have learned many things since my first year of University. However, none of them have been academic.
2/24/2007
dog park drama
The dog park always leaves me feeling like a horribly unqualified dog owner. Maybe this is because my dog spends a good twenty minutes of each visit trying to hump the various other dogs that he is engaged in play with. I would not mind the humping if he allowed the other dogs a proper go, but he is highly hypocritical when his turn comes to be on the receiving end.
I spent our time there shouting things at him that made the other dog owners giggle behind my back. "Do you not understand that I am leading by example?" I asked. "I do not hump the other dogs in this park, so you should not hump them either!" I threw a tennis ball in an effort to distract him and, thankfully, it worked. "I do not know what I should do," I confessed to one of the other owners. "He seems to have found something he is good at and is sticking with it. I just don't know that it is the kind of hobby I can lend my support to."
The dog happily returned with the ball in his mouth and dropped it at my feet. Unfortunately, before I could even bend down to pick it up, he was at it again. The brindle boxer, whom my dog was so enthusiastically showing his moves to, stood their proudly, seemingly oblivious to the attention my dog was lavishing upon his back end. "Dog," I pled. "Please!"
"Do not worry," the boxer's owner reassured me, patting my shoulder. "Chev is just too slow. It is really his own fault."
While I appreciate her concern for me, I cannot see how what she says could possibly be the truth. Whenever I have been subjected to unwanted/unwarranted humping, never have I thought "If only I had been faster!"
I spent our time there shouting things at him that made the other dog owners giggle behind my back. "Do you not understand that I am leading by example?" I asked. "I do not hump the other dogs in this park, so you should not hump them either!" I threw a tennis ball in an effort to distract him and, thankfully, it worked. "I do not know what I should do," I confessed to one of the other owners. "He seems to have found something he is good at and is sticking with it. I just don't know that it is the kind of hobby I can lend my support to."
The dog happily returned with the ball in his mouth and dropped it at my feet. Unfortunately, before I could even bend down to pick it up, he was at it again. The brindle boxer, whom my dog was so enthusiastically showing his moves to, stood their proudly, seemingly oblivious to the attention my dog was lavishing upon his back end. "Dog," I pled. "Please!"
"Do not worry," the boxer's owner reassured me, patting my shoulder. "Chev is just too slow. It is really his own fault."
While I appreciate her concern for me, I cannot see how what she says could possibly be the truth. Whenever I have been subjected to unwanted/unwarranted humping, never have I thought "If only I had been faster!"
2/20/2007
but i don't think it bothers me
He acts like a baby when he is sick. This is probably why it baffles me that his whiny voice actually triggers my heart to melt just a little.
"I do not know why I am still sick," he tells me. "I have been doing everything right." It takes several minutes before I am able to get him to confess to washing his cold medication down with beer.
"What did you expect?" I sigh. "You are supposed to be drinking lots of fluids."
"But beer is a fluid," he argues.
"Water. You are supposed to be drinking lots of water." His forehead is warm and, despite the sweat that is soaking his sheets, he is shivering.
"I think I am dying," He groans.
"You are not dying," I assure him, running my hand across his back in slow circles. "You are just an idiot. I am going to get you a glass of water."
I shake my head at the disarray of his apartment. It is clear that four other males cohabit the space. As I walk back into his room, I catch sight of the panicked face he is making. Oh, god. There is going to be vomit. He vaults out of the bed and pushes his way past me. The sounds of his retching lets me know that he has made it to the bathroom in time. I take a minute to mentally prepare myself before I join him in an attempt to offer up a little bit of comfort.
There is what appears to be a clean washcloth sitting next to the bathroom sink and I quickly grab it, running it under the cold water before I crouch down next to him and wipe it tenderly across his forehead. "I am going to run you a bath," I tell him. "It is going to feel cold, but that is only because you have a fever." His head is resting against the porcelain of toilet, a brave move in a dwelling where the inhabitants rarely look before they aim, but I think I see him nod.
The bathtub is surprisingly clean and barely requires a wipe down before I start to fill it. His head is now resting on his forearm, on the edge of the toilet, and his eyes are closed. If I didn't know better, I would say he looked peaceful. As the tub finishes filling, I rub his head and tell him that I need him to take off his pants.
"You have been waiting years to say that," he accuses, as he rises to his feet.
"You caught me. I have spent the last seven years just waiting to catch you feverish, wreaking of vomit and completely helpless. Do you need my help, or can you get into the tub on your own?"
He smiles down at me and, without warning, pulls his pajama bottoms down around his ankles. "I better not catch you looking," he warns, stepping into the tub. "My virtue is at stake."
As he lowers himself down, I toss the washcloth at his head. "Cover your virtue with that," I instruct him and I exit the bathroom, in search of a clean towel, before he can respond.
It is another hour before I leave. Rubbing his stomach and tucking him into bed, I lean over his head and reach for the extra pillow that is scrunched up in between his mattress and the wall. "I just saw all the way down your shirt," he giggles.
"Wonderful," I sigh, deciding that he no longer needs an extra pillow. "Call me tomorrow morning so that I know you have not perished during the night." And with that, I leave him.
Sometimes I feel like I've entered into a sexless marriage that I didn't entirely agree to.
"I do not know why I am still sick," he tells me. "I have been doing everything right." It takes several minutes before I am able to get him to confess to washing his cold medication down with beer.
"What did you expect?" I sigh. "You are supposed to be drinking lots of fluids."
"But beer is a fluid," he argues.
"Water. You are supposed to be drinking lots of water." His forehead is warm and, despite the sweat that is soaking his sheets, he is shivering.
"I think I am dying," He groans.
"You are not dying," I assure him, running my hand across his back in slow circles. "You are just an idiot. I am going to get you a glass of water."
I shake my head at the disarray of his apartment. It is clear that four other males cohabit the space. As I walk back into his room, I catch sight of the panicked face he is making. Oh, god. There is going to be vomit. He vaults out of the bed and pushes his way past me. The sounds of his retching lets me know that he has made it to the bathroom in time. I take a minute to mentally prepare myself before I join him in an attempt to offer up a little bit of comfort.
There is what appears to be a clean washcloth sitting next to the bathroom sink and I quickly grab it, running it under the cold water before I crouch down next to him and wipe it tenderly across his forehead. "I am going to run you a bath," I tell him. "It is going to feel cold, but that is only because you have a fever." His head is resting against the porcelain of toilet, a brave move in a dwelling where the inhabitants rarely look before they aim, but I think I see him nod.
The bathtub is surprisingly clean and barely requires a wipe down before I start to fill it. His head is now resting on his forearm, on the edge of the toilet, and his eyes are closed. If I didn't know better, I would say he looked peaceful. As the tub finishes filling, I rub his head and tell him that I need him to take off his pants.
"You have been waiting years to say that," he accuses, as he rises to his feet.
"You caught me. I have spent the last seven years just waiting to catch you feverish, wreaking of vomit and completely helpless. Do you need my help, or can you get into the tub on your own?"
He smiles down at me and, without warning, pulls his pajama bottoms down around his ankles. "I better not catch you looking," he warns, stepping into the tub. "My virtue is at stake."
As he lowers himself down, I toss the washcloth at his head. "Cover your virtue with that," I instruct him and I exit the bathroom, in search of a clean towel, before he can respond.
It is another hour before I leave. Rubbing his stomach and tucking him into bed, I lean over his head and reach for the extra pillow that is scrunched up in between his mattress and the wall. "I just saw all the way down your shirt," he giggles.
"Wonderful," I sigh, deciding that he no longer needs an extra pillow. "Call me tomorrow morning so that I know you have not perished during the night." And with that, I leave him.
Sometimes I feel like I've entered into a sexless marriage that I didn't entirely agree to.
2/17/2007
pages from my journal
The following are a collection of entries from the journal I have sporadically kept over the years. The sentences appealed to me and may or may not have been taken entirely out of context in their transition from paper to interweb:
I jumped into the pool, fully clothed. It was cold.
1/16/04
Is it bad that I cannot remember his name or what he looked like?
7/02/04
There is something beautiful about the highway at night. Well, at least after you've been smoking pot there is.
12/16/04
If my life were a song, I think it would be something by ABBA. A melody that is chipper and up-beat with lyrics that are surprisingly somber. My life is the music of a 1970s Swedish pop group.
4/28/05
It reminds me of the time, when I was four, that I burnt a hole in my sisters winter coat with a sparkler. Did I want to set her on fire? I am not entirely sure.
12/30/05
note to self: telling strangers about situations that may cause you to lose control of your bowels is not a good way to break the ice.
6/19/06
I miss you most on cold nights. Who will keep my feet warm now?
2/10/07
I jumped into the pool, fully clothed. It was cold.
1/16/04
Is it bad that I cannot remember his name or what he looked like?
7/02/04
There is something beautiful about the highway at night. Well, at least after you've been smoking pot there is.
12/16/04
If my life were a song, I think it would be something by ABBA. A melody that is chipper and up-beat with lyrics that are surprisingly somber. My life is the music of a 1970s Swedish pop group.
4/28/05
It reminds me of the time, when I was four, that I burnt a hole in my sisters winter coat with a sparkler. Did I want to set her on fire? I am not entirely sure.
12/30/05
note to self: telling strangers about situations that may cause you to lose control of your bowels is not a good way to break the ice.
6/19/06
I miss you most on cold nights. Who will keep my feet warm now?
2/10/07
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