gas is two fifty six nine a gallon.

sometimes i dont feel like f*****g writing you at all.

i get to feeling like forrest gump and you're jenny and you've sent back all my letters--only you haven't even done that because a return to sender requires more commitment.

i was thinking about it earlier, kinda, when i was looking at my face. that your brief interest in "me" (poetry/ tits) was the result of the slight pedophilic tendencies you (maybe) share with the majority of others who've seen...either of those things but especially the former, is not an admission i've wanted to make. even for the sake of clarity. but one gets to a point. especially after weeks of sunday SVU marathoning.

"so...he didn't...really care about me at all..."

then alexandra cabot has to say something nice, but it doesn't really work, and he committs a guilt inducing suicide...

oh yeah, it was, "c'mon i'll drive you home."

not to imply that the point is a rigid thing. so i write you these letters to no one, which makes it easy enough to say whatever.

i'll never be a politician, though.

*        *         *

the mini road trip is in a few days.
"can you casually mention to her the fact that you're very sexually attracted to me but you refuse to act on it for fear of tainting our life-fulfiling friendship?"
"definitely. oh yeah--i'm gonna go meet josh on friday, so i'll be able to  leave you two alone."
"sara, i'm really nervous. i've never had sex with a girl before. she's not even gonna WANNA have sex with me."
"i'll talk you through it. don't worry you're pretty little head."

*         *           *

when mom takes dad out for father's day dinner and he's texting at the table, he looks like a big a*****e. dad, you're a big a*****e.

i don't really wonder what you're doing for father's day because that kind of fantasy feels more ridiculous and creepy than this whole scenario already is, and even if you don't believe me based on the fact that i'm mentioning it at all, i just thought i'd let you know.

*          *         *

last night i saw Sunshine Cleaning in the dollar theater. the dollar seventy five theater. it's one of those movies i'm not so sure if i'm glad i saw, anyway. it's kinda weird to hear amy adams giggle sexually because her voice is so sweet, and i don't like her in that red hair--she looks like whats her face from Will and Grace. Grace.

mostly it was the setting. what the f**k is it about albuquerque? makes me think of boone and the way he made me watch weird al music videos on youtube after once we had sex in this sick yellow basment. the guy who lived there, his name was dermod. what a name. Dermod.

i don't think donnie darko was right about a tube that shoots out of you and forms a trajectory of your life or whatever, but, maybe i'm remembering the movie/concept wrong. i still get the idea of this attachment to it, though, --to a possible future, i mean. the way you hear a song that makes you feel nostalgic but in reverse. you know, this is what i Would Have Listened to. --the way my dad drives past houses he almost bought, once.

seeing the movie is a horrific version of that feeling.

"i want us to fall in love." i told you he said that. that he wants me to move in with him. in albuquerque.

"you can eat your soup right out of the ash trays if you wanna; it's okay: they're clean."

*        *          *

we did it this morning, and it hurt. i remember thinking after he pulled out how sore i felt. i don't tell him that, though. he was washing up in the bathroom and i remembered the way that muslim one walked around naked that morning like we were lovers or something and kept insisting i eat something for breakfast. he made me this mint tea that was more like a syrup, and then jess and i walked in the park like we used to, and she told me mom was in the hospital.

what i meant earlier, about your slight pedophilic tendencies, was that sometimes i want advice. sometimes i want to ask you what it was like having to move, you'd once made this comment--sometimes you'd say these little revealing things--about the man at the gas station, and about feeling established in a place.

so to have to go back home. it isn't even me wanting to believe you'd said that beautiful thing (about the man at the gas station) to just me. i mean you could say the same thing to everybody. i just want to hear you say it sucks.

you're such a brat, though, you're worse than me.
 

Reviews

[M.A. Biggam]

I don't know what this is all about but its pretty excellent. Dad's texting at the table is also a personal gripe of man. Sometimes I think all my dad has to talk about is the headlines on the BBC news app. I have to not watch the news so our conversations are more stimulating. Yeah, what the f**k is this obsession with ABQ? I think its Breaking Bad's fault.