Tag Archives: sleep apnea

you are particles too. (jenn)


you drive hundreds of miles by thousands of homes. (ohio. indiana. illinois. wisconsin.) you wonder how people do it. how they stay in one place, with one person. find enough room in cold basements to store all their dissatisfactions. distract themselves with soccer practices and bathroom renovations. you wonder if they dream. you wonder what makes them all choose the same templates. you genuinely want to know. you feel foreign with your short-attention span and impending sense of doom. also, you are a split lip victim of domestic dog-abuse.


where’s my ability to love someone longer than a few years? where’s my overpriced golden retriever who appreciates my affection?

i need someone to teach me the game of simple functioning–someone who’ll be a coach/father figure, who’ll cheer me on by saying go get ’em hee, play for life! tackle that lack of commitment to employment and/or men! go long! go long!

just kidding. really i just want a big sports mvp award for sitting on the bench with my favorite books, abnormal values, and pleasant expression.


you’re on a beach in milwaukee. you think about hawaii, your home. you wish you could be quantum-sized, in two places at once. why can’t you? you are particles too. but you exist here and only here, in milwaukee, on a beach. you wonder why there are no dogs running on the beach. you turn your head and see a sign that says no dogs allowed. you wished all your questions were answered just like that. why can’t i get a real job? why can’t i ask strangers for directions? why do i keep switching from second to first to third person? i turn my head but instead of signs with succinct answers, there is only ryan. and he’s doing that thing where he’s sleeping and makes noises like he’s choking on air about to die, but he doesn’t, and keeps breathing. i think it’s sleep apnea. he’s definitely dying this time.


this time.


and you wonder why you can’t turn off the iolani in you that wants to attack his brain with a red pen every time he defies all grammar rules known to keables in his blogs. you wish you too could embrace schizophrenic capitalization.


you’re in harmonie’s bedroom and you don’t know where to go next. head towards fargo, go and go and settle in california? isolate and write in small town canada? go home? finally. go home. or turn around. drive back to jersey. stay with a friend and wait until december 14th, when we have tickets from philly to amsterdam—the trip of a lifetime, a christmas present to ourselves before ryan got fired. you wish the computer was a fortune cookie. you want to be told something ambiguous such as “go to amsterdam” so that you can interpret it to mean exactly what you want it to, which is go to amsterdam and forget that you’re two unemployed bloggers with a dog mouth to feed and all your life possessions in a murano.

you do not make the best decisions. prom dresses, 7th glass of wine, bulgaria. you decide to pick up a book, turn to a random page, and read the first sentence you see. usually you prefer magic plath 8 ball, but harmonie only has the gulag archipelago on her floor. you grab. you open. you read:

“thus a person could disappear from the face of the earth with the help of the OSO even more reliably than under the terms of some primitive court sentence.”

amsterdam it is!