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yeah, and once we hurled handfuls of packed snow at each other till our knees were soaked and yr nose bled, but now mine is just bloody all the time.

lately i talk about things like they're a crossroads, or an impasse, dead air while we pass the time looking the other way, beer can in hand, pretending to forget. sometimes i'd rather dance all night. sometimes i'd rather ride bikes for hours, find the smoothest, newest asphalt in the city and pedal through the cool, empty, finally quieting night. it has to be silence, or beats as loud as we can make them. it has to be stillness, or giddy flailing limbs. they said i was a stolid dancer. he said i was enraged, that one night, so long ago, but it takes more than that. i'm an expert at about-faces and stiff backbones, at making the wrong expressions and deja vu conversations and throwing you off.

i need to find an answer or a story besides "oh, nothing really...", but right now what i seem to live for is dumpstered furniture, dumpstered food, spraypainting pictures to put on the walls. finding errands as far from home as possible so that buying groceries takes house on my bike, on new or forgotten streets, so my toes get cold and my ears burn and my legs feel alive again. my new hobby is homemaking, but i think anything that involves "making" should be alright.

(what does anyone "do" with a college degree ?)