red lipstick

I realize on many days I live my life as if I'm a character in a story.  Always having an adventure.  Always being a little silly.  I woke up from strange dreams feeling all out of sorts today.  I haven't been eating enough and I know that's a big part of it.  Its rainy and bleh outside and I haven't even begun to think about showering and leaving the house.  My errands will have to wait for Monday though I really could've used that oil change before my trip to Dover tomorrow evening.

In an attempt to make something a little better?  Different?  Humorous?  for today, I put on a lovely coat of red lipstick.  I feel silly every time I pass a mirror and catch a glimpse of myself.  Penguin jammie bottoms, black Breckenridge sweatshirt, hair in a bun, and bright red pinup girl lipstick....

Meanwhile, electronically, I'm hiding under a desk with a girl in her office.  We have a loaf of fresh, warm banana bread and a bottle of wine and I am not Erica.  In fact, she has never seen me before.

I feel all out of sorts.

The sudden urge to shower overtakes me... suddenly I feel I need to hide from the world and the shower now seems the perfect place.  I strip and stand in front of the mirror looking at myself.  My silly red lipstick..... The red doesn't hint at sexy or playful.  All I can see is old.  My face looks drawn and my eyes dark and sunken.  Tired from years of drinking and partying and second hand smoking. and stress and hunger and trains.  I miss my full plump face of youth and despise the deep paranthetic frame of my mouth and dried up river bed between my eyebrows and my now hollow cheeks.  I used to be so pretty.

My showers are entirely too hot.  It feels as if I'm trying to burn the flesh from my skeleton.  I know its not good for the skin but it feels so good on my insides.  And afterwards I look back in the now fogged up mirror.  There is a little more life in my face... a nice rosy hue in my cheeks.  The red lipstick has not come off or even faded in the slightest.  I grab a piece of toilet paper and rub my lips raw.  It's mostly off now but I will have a slight red hint in my lips for the rest of the day.  Gone are the days of lipstick that never stays on.  My niece will never get away with what I did as a little girl.... momma's lipstick won't come off and hide her little secret of exploring the adult world many years too soon.

I guess we never get too old to play dress up.
　
　
　

It's about time

"I'm on a train and listening to florence and the machine and I love you"
　
The text came a few minutes before 10 yesterday morning.
　
We are still friends on trains.  It's the only place you exist to me and the only place where I can still love you.
　
Daydreams take some away to an alternate reality.  Some people have movies or books or music.  I have trains.  On them I sense no passage of time, no stress, no worries or to-dos, no family or friends, no responsibility, no mistakes.  Just me.  Any me I want to be.  Occupying space.  Alone with my thoughts and adventures and surrounded by visions and the sounds of people, imaginary inconsequential people.  Some days there are a lot of these people.  Sometimes they talk to me whilst dressed in business suits, drinking beer out of a brown paper bag, and explaining how their wife won't be happy about their impromptu after work excursion with the boys.
　
The best part of fantasy worlds is not the control we have over things but the beauty of tempo rubato.  The musical term derived from Italian meaning "stolen time."  Rhythmic manipulation and nuance.  Stealing time from one thing and giving it to another.  The bending and shaping of time.
　
My pocketful of hours in the day always runs out before I'm ready for it to.
　
I don't see it as a cruel fact of life.  Today I see it as Debussy performed by someone not ready to play it.  Looking out of Starbuck's window at the intersection of Grant & Academy, I see it all sonically and time is bending all wrong.  It's not being manipulated but it is manipulating us.
　
I did much better when I was living on trains and in their stations. I was at peace with time.  We were friends even.
　
I was happier.
　
And more relaxed.
　
And felt more alive.
　
Now I have a home, which I do love.  And a job, which I enjoy.  And stability, which, well, because I simply cannot afford to live the life of trains.