February 28, 2004

  • We're finally getting a breather from Cokie, after "trying to help her find an apartment down here for a tax write-off" all week, to the detriment of our grades.   Yeppers, Jane Athlete's out bungee cord jumping.   After hearing her past experiences with the sport, we just had to decline the invite, even at her treat.   "Awww, com'on!  Be brave people!"   Not!   No one's moving any back drops so this girl almost hits 'em on the way down!  


    No, I'd rather stick to more grounded activities like jogging for the time being.   Ash and I've been running several afternoons a week at the high school track, and I'm always way ahead of her.   It's one of the few feats in which I reign supreme over my sister; just to rub it in, I stretch my legs out as far as possible, affect an upright pose with my hair streaming in the wind, and make like a race horse,  my feet barely touching the ground.    So good.   I can't help it.   I can do three, four miles that way in this weather, while Coke is lucky to huff and puff her way through one.   Poor Sis.   That's what she gets for chronic smoking.   Plus, she has five years on me, not that it should make any difference.    Naw, must be the drinking, too; she always has to wind down at the local bar.   She's certainly not overweight. 


    Funny, this morning I had a long dream about us on the expressway all day.   "I thought we'd never get out of the concrete Turkwaz," I said to Ashleigh in the dream.   What in fuck are cement Turkwaz?!?   Freeways, of course!   Silly.  When the alarm went off, she was gone.   All right!   Must've been inspired by our getting low on gas Friday.   Cokie wanted to use a credit card and the station didn't accept any.   Cokie, ever in a hurry, was insistent.   The poor attendent was up in arms at what to do.   He just stood there, wiping his greasey hands on a handiwipe towel as my enterprising sister tried to work out some arrangement.   "Asshole!" she yelled out the window as we breezed away.


    So Brett's here and we've got the other bedroom all to ourselves again.   He's been such a doll.   He knows I'm sad about him and won't say.   It's in his fleeting concerned gaze and protective embrace.   A sudden deep respect for my opinion, a quest for my delight.   "Look, Tina, they've got your such-and-such."    Don't cry.   No.   And don't say.   I'm trying.    Screaming silent voices, holding on tight as we fall.   I can hear them when we make love.  Get pregnant!   Now, while you have the chance!   The temptation's strong.


    By the way, I'm not Cathy or Jennifer.   People keep asking.