So I’m starting something new here, which I have aptly titled crumbs. This little feature is designed to house the crumbs of the day/week (i.e. things that happened that were not that significant, or things that I like or think.
Fair warning that crumbs will be very lame at times, and it will reveal things about me that I probably do not want you or anyone else to know. One day, I’ll look back at this and be like lawl wut. (so insightful)
I could’ve called this something more artful, but I think that crumbs is good. It’s like lifting up a couch cushion. Sometimes theres a quarter and sometimes it’s just you and the lint. That metaphor was going somewhere but who knows where so I’ll just move on.
Alright, the first embarassing crumb of the week (COTW) ((Will that catch on? Who knows) is that I have been listening to old (and I mean old) Taylor Swift songs. Now some people who know me know that I hate Taylor Swift, and others know that I love Taylor Swift. I have fluctuating opinions, okay? But I read this article by Tavi Gevinson, a young hero amongst mortals, and I think I am back on the train. There’s something interesting, also, about listening to the music that people made before they were famous. It’s cool. This is also something I love.
Also, a couple of songs that I’ve been listening to on hella repeat this week:
Also, I’ve definitely been trying to channel my inner Stevie Nicks this week. My queen Stevie. This is an amazing photo of Lily Rabe channeling her inner Stevie.
Also have been loving all things creepy this week. American Horror Story: Coven just ended so I’m trying to get my fix of the macabre. I discovered Bates Motel on Netflix and I am obsessed. It’s also giving me urges to rewatch Twin Peaks because that shit was so visually pleasing. I’m definitely seeing parallels between Bates Motel and Twin Peaks, though. And that’s the best thing that could ever happen.
Hm. What else. Oh here’s something I wrote for a creative writing class. I don’t know if this is the appropriate place to put this, but whatever. I’m going for it.
Walking down this street still makes me uncomfortable. The road somehow seems uncertain and unsure, as though it might come out from below me altogether. It moves under my feet, wet with yesterday’s rain, careful not to trip me, and yet still it feels out of place against under my boot soles. I do not deserve this road. It tries hard to make me feel warm, surrounding itself with white picket fences and white picket families. It allows flowers and trees to grow from it, and it allows small creatures to make homes near it. It is trying unimaginably, inconceivably hard to make me like it, but I resist.
The road below me is never ending. No matter how far I travel, some road connects to some highway, which connects to some small street, which, you guessed it, connects to this road. The road does not leave me alone. No matter how heavily I tread, how much mud I drag across it, it always runs right back, pulling my feet down with a force that is more than gravity. I am stuck to it. No. It is stuck to me.
A few summers ago I liked to run on this road. But it didn’t really matter where I was running, as long as I was running somewhere that looked nice. I didn’t run because I wanted to run, or to be healthy. I ran because I wanted people to think that I was one of those people who wanted to run. It worked. I had more friends; people would ask me didn’t I see you running the other day and I would answer them yes. It was very satisfying to be a person who ran. I thought hey I would like to be this person for a long time.
I stopped running after a few months. It was not as satisfying to be a person who ran when other people started running too. Some people wanted to run with me. A girl from my DUI class wanted to run with me one day and I told her I don’t run anymore to see if she would run anyway. She didn’t. I hate people like that.
A year after my façade of running interest I took up reading newspapers. I didn’t really like newspapers particularly, but I liked how they made me look scholarly, and I liked how the words looked in tiny print on the huge pages. The words were very small, and very plain, but people thought they were very important. They were important because they were in the right order. Isn’t that strange? How something as simple as the arrangement of letters on a page can make something important. People don’t think alphabet soup is important but maybe that’s just because the noodles aren’t in the right order. Someone should tell that to Campbell’s.
Because of my newspaper reading, I actually learned a lot of things. Did you know that the world is in a horrible state? People die all the time because things randomly come into their houses and blow everything up. All of their things catch on fire and their children run screaming from their houses and then they have nothing. All because some letters were in the right order somewhere, and someone read them and thought they were important. How come nobody hears about those people unless they’re their neighbors? If the white picket family down the street gets blown up, and their children run screaming into the street and the cat is still inside, you hear about it. You don’t hear about that when it happens anywhere else.
This isn’t supposed to be grim. I’m just thinking about things. When I think about things, they usually go to the worst place that they can go, and then I say it out loud to an old lady on the bus and she says oh okay. She doesn’t really hear me though.
The street is still damp. The rain doesn’t ever stop around here. I wish there was a way that I could scoop a hole out of this road and just stand in the empty spot. I think that empty spots are underrated. People should stand in their empty spots more. That way their shoes wouldn’t have to touch the road. I don’t want my shoes to touch the road.
It is now dawn. The sun is glittering on the pavement. The water lies still in the cracks, and the grass blows a little before it is creased by paws and boot soles. Mailboxes freeze and stack still on alert before their houses. You can hear cracking bacon and simmering eggs in the white picket houses. The white picket families who have not been blown apart mumble about good morning and how are you today. There is a sort of peace on the road in the morning. For some reason, my boot soles do not mind the road today. I know that they will hate the road again tonight and I will go stand in my empty space.
The newspaper will be coming soon. I can read about what happened last night and maybe the girl in my DUI class is a runner now or maybe she got blown apart. Maybe they are going to demolish the road and I can stand somewhere else instead. But probably there will just be letters in the right order. If I read the newspaper I will know everything that is true and important. Nothing will be wrong today.
I’m almost at my house now. My family will not know that I was gone, or that I have been on this road all night. I will walk into my white picket house with a grin, I just grabbed the paper I’ll say and how are you she’ll say but she won’t mean it. Maybe my house will be the one in the paper tomorrow. Maybe the DUI girl will come blow it up because she read the right letters. Maybe Campbell’s will stop selling alphabet soup. Maybe I’ll run.
So there’s that. Yep. How do you guys feel about crumbs? Like/dislike? I don’t really care because I’m probably going to keep doing them anyway, but I really do enjoy hearing what you guys have to say.