I have made the drive from Stl to KC too many times to count. So many times, in fact, that I have certain thoughts that always cross my mind at the same mile markers. Today, I decided to document them.
You know your drive is boring when you remember every slight change in direction in elevation. Currently at 167.8 - the Big Hill.
128, Columbia, where the speed limit drops by 10 and traffic slows by 3.
123, outside of Columbia, back to 80.
91.2, the Big Turn.
58.8, fuel and caffeine stop in Bumfuck, MO, where gas is 10 cents cheaper than in KC and 15 cents cheaper than in Stl.
28, the QT I stop at when heading east...this is where I regret the large soda and proceed to squirm for the rest of the drive.
21, where the speed limit drops and no one cares.
10.2, where I see the Royals and Chiefs stadiums, and I sigh at the shittiness of KC sports while missing having home teams worth cheering for.
3.6, where no one what knows what lane to be in.
2, where I finally get off the highway after 3+ hours and slowly regain my sanity.
I really should document the return trip at some point, but the odds of me remembering are quite slim.
3:22pm 31.7.11
31.7.11
21.6.11
It just is.
Your chest pressed against mine. Your heartbeat radiating from deep within you, palpable on my skin. My lips on your neck. Your hands on my waist, my back, my face. Everywhere, always moving. My fingers lost in your hair. Intertwined. Ecstasy.
I shake it out of my head temporarily, but the picture is engrained in me, the associated emotions ready to surge again. The thoughts creep up when I least expect them. The fantasy, destined to remain a figment of imagination, never to enter the realm of reality. To watch it fade from mind again causes a hollow ache that I can't quite explain. A feeling of never-been and never-will. It doesn't hurt. It just is.
I shake it out of my head temporarily, but the picture is engrained in me, the associated emotions ready to surge again. The thoughts creep up when I least expect them. The fantasy, destined to remain a figment of imagination, never to enter the realm of reality. To watch it fade from mind again causes a hollow ache that I can't quite explain. A feeling of never-been and never-will. It doesn't hurt. It just is.
4.5.11
Weapons of Choice
She released her thumb and the flame flickered before extinguishing. She set down the lighter, holding the now sterile instrument in her other hand. Her weapon of choice. She rested her left arm on the towel, closed her eyes, and pressed. The pain was instant, deep, and high-pitched, if such a thing were possible. She slid it toward her elbow, exhaling deeply and feeling her relief mingling with the pain. As she lifted her right hand, she opened her eyes. Her blood, so garish against her pale flesh, was dripping down her arm. It was indistinguishable from the maroon towel on which it pooled. She had cut deeper than she meant to. This one might leave a legitimate scar. Shit.
She sat there for a moment, watching the warm liquid slowly exit her body. As it began to slow, she wrapped her arm in the towel and headed to the bathroom. She cleaned the blade and returned it to the cabinet, and then rinsed the now-dried blood from her arm. It stung like crazy, but the pain was what she had been seeking in the first place. Pain meant she was feeling something - it was a temporary reprieve from the internal torment she couldn't seem to fully escape. She looked at her arm again, seeing the dozen or so parallel lines, all of different lengths and in different stages of healing. Good thing it was winter. No one would question her choice to wear long-sleeves for several weeks. She sighed, turned off the bathroom light, and went back to studying.
7:30pm 4.5.11
She sat there for a moment, watching the warm liquid slowly exit her body. As it began to slow, she wrapped her arm in the towel and headed to the bathroom. She cleaned the blade and returned it to the cabinet, and then rinsed the now-dried blood from her arm. It stung like crazy, but the pain was what she had been seeking in the first place. Pain meant she was feeling something - it was a temporary reprieve from the internal torment she couldn't seem to fully escape. She looked at her arm again, seeing the dozen or so parallel lines, all of different lengths and in different stages of healing. Good thing it was winter. No one would question her choice to wear long-sleeves for several weeks. She sighed, turned off the bathroom light, and went back to studying.
7:30pm 4.5.11
23.3.11
This Town
Worn-down and exhausted
Felt like his life was passing him by
Hated his job, missed his family
Spent most nights with no one by his side
He’d reached a breaking point
Knew something had to give
Packed everything that mattered
Started driving, life to live
10 hours later, opened the door
Stepped onto the pavement
He’d never seen this before
Felt like his life was passing him by
Hated his job, missed his family
Spent most nights with no one by his side
He’d reached a breaking point
Knew something had to give
Packed everything that mattered
Started driving, life to live
10 hours later, opened the door
Stepped onto the pavement
He’d never seen this before
16.3.11
T-minus
L -
10
minutes I stood, leaning against my door, after our first date. Blindsided by your charm, unwilling to admit to myself how I felt.
9
hours before I heard from you again, a cheery good morning text that I was excited to wake up to.
8
months I spent getting to know you. You didn't make it easy, but I assumed you were worth the time and effort.
10
minutes I stood, leaning against my door, after our first date. Blindsided by your charm, unwilling to admit to myself how I felt.
9
hours before I heard from you again, a cheery good morning text that I was excited to wake up to.
8
months I spent getting to know you. You didn't make it easy, but I assumed you were worth the time and effort.
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