Get home. Fuck around. Eat. Fuck around. Finish my gym article. Drive Dad to Woodhouse. Work half an hour earlier than I thought. Speed to work. Late to work. Restock shelves.
Break.
I pick up my phone and make the phone call I promised I would.
"Hi, I'm bored and I'm bothering you." This is so easy. Why haven't I done this before? Maybe that's why being in a relationship isn't scaring the shit out of me this time. This time, it's easy. We talk about my boredom, graffiti, brownies [that he won't bring in, that dick], and everything else. I ran way over my break time, again.
But this 22-minute phone call compares dimly to the hour and a half we spent on the phone on Monday. I was bitching to John about how we can talk forever, but can't hold a text conversation worth a shit. I've realized that I prefer the former, but the more we talk on the phone, the easier texting becomes.
My phone sings from my dresser, where I had to plug it in because I talked it out of battery. I'm prepared for a late night, not doing my homework, talking to him.
The name is Nik.
"Then, all of a sudden, something very spooky started happening. Every time I came to the end of a block and stepped off the goddam curb, I had this feeling that I’d never get to the other side of the street. I thought I’d just go down, down, down, and nobody’d ever see me again."
-Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye
Get home. Fuck around. Eat. Fuck around. Finish my gym article. Drive Dad to Woodhouse. Work half an hour earlier than I thought. Speed to work. Late to work. Restock shelves.
Break.
I pick up my phone and make the phone call I promised I would.
"Hi, I'm bored and I'm bothering you." This is so easy. Why haven't I done this before? Maybe that's why being in a relationship isn't scaring the shit out of me this time. This time, it's easy. We talk about my boredom, graffiti, brownies [that he won't bring in, that dick], and everything else. I ran way over my break time, again.
But this 22-minute phone call compares dimly to the hour and a half we spent on the phone on Monday. I was bitching to John about how we can talk forever, but can't hold a text conversation worth a shit. I've realized that I prefer the former, but the more we talk on the phone, the easier texting becomes.
My phone sings from my dresser, where I had to plug it in because I talked it out of battery. I'm prepared for a late night, not doing my homework, talking to him.
