I’ve got something you can labor

By christa 20 February, 2008 best of loafe, vol 1, random

I’ve got a real thing for laborers. I always have. There’s just something about them, in their grubby clothes with their disheveled hair and general overall griminess. They seem so tough, so manly, so very sexy.

I’m not talking about the stereotypical fat, old, gross construction guy. ick. Younger, cuter. I used to know a lot of them back in the day, the boys who came over from Ireland all worked as laborers: painters, roofers, landscapers, etc. They were always so dirty, their clothes covered in paint, grease, tar, grass, something. They liked their jobs, they liked going out to the bars afterwards, they liked meeting women and drinking and laughing and having a good time. They liked to fight and argue and sing and dance. Very full of life. Did I mention they liked meeting women? I loved those boys, those dirty filthy horny boys.

I say this because one of the offices in my building is being renovated, so there’s been all sorts of different construction-type guys around lately. I’ve noticed two in particular, they look like electrical wire guys, maybe, and jesus do they have me distracted. I’ve only been to the bathroom a thousand times to try and get a glimpse of them in the halls. I can’t get enough, I want them to make out with me in the supply closet. I’ve got some wires for you to cross, boys. I’ve got some walls you can paint. I’ve got an office you can renovate. I’ve got a bit you can drill. I’ve got a roof you can tar. I’ve got a lawn you can mow.

What am I, a 15-year-old boy in the grip of puberty? christ. Something is seriously wrong with me. I’m not normally this boy-crazy.

I tell you, it’s my damn vagina and her crazy sister Uterus. They want babies! They are relentless! They say: Somebody better get me a penis right now.

coincidence the word “labor” has appeared in this post 8,000 times?

a rumble under the surface, a brand new sky

By christa 18 February, 2008 best of loafe, vol 1, random

I just listened to times like these by foo fighters five times in a row. No wait, six. A song that I’ve already listened to an uncountable number of times. I suppose it’s times like these that I like to listen to times like these.

and what are these times? I dunno. times like these are when I feel something missing maybe. times like these are when I think I need to get pregnant. times like these when a choice must be made. times like these when reality is thin and a shimmer is just behind the curtain. times like these when you know the plates are shifting and the gulf is widening.

I want to disappear, take Ryland and just disappear.

not that I’m depressed or sad. because I’m not, not really, not any more or less than normal. it’s… I guess it’s just times like these, you know? times like these.

times to be somewhere else, somewhere different, somewhere unknown, just me and my ry, with new stories, new eyes, new sky. it’s appealing. that’s all I’m saying. It’s appealing, his sleepy arms around my neck as we slink off into the night.

don’t we all suffer the ache of just being who we are, and of everything that it took to get us there? we get crushed under the weight of our very breaths and our lungs atrophy, we atrophy.

there is something to be said for laying it all out. to tell you everything, to want you to know everything, to open the wounds and let the blood cover you. it’s not just therapeutic. it’s not just healing. it’s a chance to get out from under that suffocating air and really fill your lungs with the sweet and sacred, something inviolable. it doesn’t happen enough, you know? So it’s okay to chase it down when it does, to chase it as far as necessary. because if I don’t, if you let me go, if you give up, if we walk away… well, you don’t have to stop breathing to be dead.