Today, I seriously did not do anything except lie around our room and work my way closer to finishing White Teeth. At around midnight, feeling guilty that I would have done nothing active all day, would not have gone anywhere, I decided to go for a jog. It was so nice, and I made it much further this time than I did on my failed attempt at jogging last week. However, I was eventually plagued by that weird knee-clicking noise again, and so I decided to just walk. I think the knee-clicking noise has something to do with all the inclines in Madison, the little jogs uphill, and the little ones downhill - I never have to deal with those in Florida or Virginia - it's a good, flat land, and I think maybe that is why my knees are being more sensitive when I go jogging here.
I walked by a parking garage and saw a pack of skater boys being American youth and finding novel ways to entertain themselves, making dreary, concrete parking garages into a playground, a gigantic four story slide. I guess they walked to the top floor and then in a big pack all went down the spiraling ramps since no one is in the parking garages at midnight - and it looked so fun and made me really wish I was a skater kid. But, not even a skater kid. Just one in spirit. One of those kids who is always going on late-night adventures. And not to bars or clubs or any of that shit. But being able to hang out in a parking garage or in front of a store or wherever and make it exciting. It made me miss so much the late-night adventures of my first year in college with Rebecca and Leslie, hanging out on the shit hole in front of Shell, midnight bike rides, sneaking into that animal garden place on Bayshore, just causing havoc, living intensely - and not acting like you were, making a show of it, drinking to get loud and out of control, trying your damnedest to impress upon yourself, but even more so, upon others, that you are cool, that you're life is interesting, and that you are Exciting.
I walked back toward home feeling very nostalgic, yearning for a partner or partners in crime and spirit who would possibly do such things. Rebecca, why aren't you living with us next year? I walked past a bunch of sprinklers that were watering the massive lawns of some school building, and thought how before in those fun times I probably would have run through those sprinklers and roll in the mud. And then I exclaimed to myself, to the empty streets, "What kind of world is this if I don't play in sprinklers?" I yelled this excitedly as I was running across the street, knowing that I was going to run through the sprinklers. I ran through them once just so that I could say that I had done it, feigned the motions of living. And the water felt so good against my shirt, and I ran through again and again, doing cartwheels over the sprinkler head, diving in the air in cannonball poses through the sprinkler, landing on the damp ground. Soaked and glowing, I continued on my way home, walked over the overpass, climbed the fence, hung from it, and watched the traffic pass on Campus Drive, feeling something good. I came home and drank lots of water. Lots of it. And now, I guess I will read more of White Teeth, maybe even try to finish it since Bonnie might not be here tonight to bitch at me to turn off the light.
Bonnie is still not home and I have two predictions for what will happen, and the fact that I can predict exactly what she will say, the you'll-never-believe-what-happened facial sighs of tiredness that she will make, doesn't make me very excited. Every night is the same story with her, getting trashed, doing something with the PIRGers, and blah blah blah, some crazy person she canvassed to. I wish when she would walk in she would tell me about the taste of bananas or how she feels about fluorescent lighting, but I know it will be about PIRG. It always is. So anyways, enough of me being the passive-aggresive bitch here, and let you know the two possible options we have here:
#1: Bonnie will come in in about an hour, right as I am about to go to sleep, will throw her bag onto the couch, tell me that Whoa-it-was-a-crazy-night, as if it was somehow different from every other drunken night, and then she will say that she'll tell me but first she has to pee, and she'll pee and then come back and tell me about it.
#2: Bonnie will come in tomorrow afternoon probably around noon since she has to be at work at one or something, and will sigh, and laugh and tell me about how she didn't think it was going to happen, that she didn't think she was going to get that drunk or stoned, but she had sex with Mike or someone. And then I'll drive her to work.
Of course, there is always the possibiltiy that I am wrong and she is sober and in a knitting circle right now, but for some reason, I doubt it. PS- This is all mainly in jest. I love bitching about people in my diary, which I probably shouldn't do since Bonnie (you) seem to take offense to it everytime I do.
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