"Afternoon musings on the Q train"
written as a text message to myself because I didn't have pen and paper on the Q train between Canal St. and Prospect Park (about 5 stops), sent about 1:37 pm, Sat. May 7.
This subway ride is infinitely long.
Too much time for too many thoughts.
Like this one:
I really enjoy our hookups and am glad we can keep it casual.
Or: I wonder whether or not you'll (a different "you," of course) call me soon or just keep ignoring me.
Weird thoughts coming together
Which leads me to think of sewing machines and the surrealist image.
Chain of thoughts. No. That's not right.
Dispersed thoughts that I want to link up.
But then it all turns awry cause the song on my ipod changes again and I get sad.
I feel another boy's rejection. Or the pain of realizing that some day
ill leave this city.
The sadness is too profound and they can all see it of my fucking face.
I always told this one boyfriend that he had a good poker face,
but mine was more suited to truco.
They think im crazy, schi-zo-phre-nic
As my lips
to the tune
of my ipod.
I miss the days where my life was confined to ten city blocks
and the overwhelming sense of forced, claustrophobic subway relationships with people I didn't know wasn't a twice a day part of my routine.
I really just miss the days when I didn't have time to reflect.