I wouldn’t mind working weekends. I wouldn’t mind being in the room right now. Except for when the wind whistles through the roof, and it’s like hearing voices except worse, because I just hear one voice. And the face is white, and the hair is white, and it only gets closer and closer until I get back in to my car.
Music, for all its virtues, is no stress relief. I try anyway — turn up track one, shake your head furiously as if that sorts anything out. Pain sometimes helps… my hand opens up and slaps me across the face, but it stings too much. Make it into a fist, and drive it bluntly right under the left cheekbone — not sure if it’s my left or my right when I’m watching myself do this from afar — and this feels better. Reminds me of my first rollercoaster ride: the jolt at the end was the worst part, but my favorite because it meant it was all over and done with. This stings much much less so I punch myself, guiding my head this way and that with the pressure and the *relief*, and for a while I’m pondering if any of this will leave marks but I’m pretty sure my hands are too soft.
Reminds me of driving my car off the top of the parking structure, except I’ve obviously never done that. I propose that that’s the problem with most of my goals: I’m reminded of them as if I’ve already done them, and sometimes when I realize how few real memories I really have I get into states like these.
The laundry center is up ahead — I’ve turned off my car and parked and walked this far and I’m still wondering about freefall. The brick makes good handholds, surprisingly good; I’ve climbed on the roof on the second try. It’s about an eight foot gap across the pavement to the grass, from up here. Pardon, it’s eight feet over, probably about ten feet down. It’s kind of cute right now, I’m mentally drawing a triangle to the spot where I’d have to land with my back foot, shift my momentum into a roll and ride the ground along my shoulders. That’s how I would land with the most grace and least possible injury, I figure, and then I figure that that’s not what I need right now so I run and normally the edge would stop me but it won’t, because tonight is amazing, because my left foot is on the edge and my right knee is stabbing the air three feet from the ledge now.
I remember an X-Files episode where a man commiting suicide by jumping out a window smiles on the way down, because the breeze feels so good rushing through his blood. But I don’t feel it so much as I hear it; rushing upwards and inwards and then the ground is here. My left ankle bangs on the concrete, setting up the rest of my body to crumble on the grass, hard. Pain starts ringing through me everywhere and I think I’m laughing because the sky is actually quite clear tonight!
My left hand is wrapped around something hard; I look. My roommate’s digital camera.
Crap. I meant to go out taking pictures, and I got lost.
At least now I know what hurts.
November 9th, 2005 at 09-11-2005 @ 7:28 PM
hey, uhm.
i don’t think i’ve ever introduced myself, but im jen. like, 3 years ago or something i was an avid girls-suck reader, entertained by the rantings of you silly boys. and somehow one day back then i stumbled onto your page, and began reading that pretty frequently too. i always thought you were an awesome writer and enjoyed just, well. stalking i guess. haha.
now im a freshman at college, bored and avoiding an english paper. and i was browsing through all my old links and found your site again. annnd. figured heck, may as well say hi.
..hope youre not too freaked out.
but anywho. hi.