Back in March, I hurt myself at work. It sucked- especially on nights like this. I can't sleep- my back hurts too much. I hate that. a lot.

So, I decided to take a bath. I drew the water and added my wonderful bath salts and bubbles while I went off to get my book and a drink. I don't think you can really take a good bubble bath without also having a good drink- the two go hand in hand. I had orange juice, which would usually content me to the fullest- but not when I hurt like this. So, I took what was left of my dear friend Jose with me- which wasn't much. Perhaps there is some stock in other people's opinions. So, yeah. In the absence of anything appetizing, I also got a small plate of wheat crackers. Yum, really, as Bonnie sings 'Nobody cares, nobody cares, nobodycaresnobodycaresnobodycares'. and that became that.

I went to settle in my water, but didn't get very far at all. You know how people say that something burns so badly they can't feel it anymore? I wish that had happened, because I got one foot in before withdrawing in agony- I forget, my father likes to raise the water tempature at times. It was great. Really. . . so I drained about 1/4 of it and re-ran very cold water.

Now, I'm not one for mixed drinks at all. I hate them-why have a screwdriver and cover up the taste of vodka, my favourite? My brother drinks scotch and soda, and laughs at my neat. It happens- but I ramble, as Jeff reprimands me for using this as simply a 'message board'. However, Mr. Cuervo was on his very last leg, so I figured, 'Hell, why not?' and then I thought- "My god- how does Andy keep a job?!?"- no offense, only that I hate mixed drinks. and tequila-orange juice appears to be no exception. So, yeah. That was a waste.

No longer scortching, my bath wonderfully welcomed me. It was great- I pinned my hair up and read, losing interest in crackers but enjoying my plain little glass of orange juice. and I tured page after page of my book, reading, but not absorbing anything. I hate that. a lot. So I relaxed and thought about a trip I took recently, as Napster refers to my post as fertilizer. Baking bread and driving-my deterants to thought-are not available in this setting.

We were driving back from Seattle.
It was nearing 2 am.
He rambled on about a conquest, though I am unsure of the name.
Lada.
or was she one from the past?
I don't know, or care, really.
We pass a highway marker.
Portland's nearly 200 miles away.
and he rambles on and on about a girl he just met.
and he rambles on and on about conquests he's won.
What are you thinking?
My thoughts interrupted- Why do you ask?
You aren't talking. I thought you were thinking.
I laugh, try to think of something witty to say.
[of you, of course; crosses my mind]
Well?
I imagine him a pleading child.
I laugh again- I can't tell you.
Why's that?
I imagine he imagines me playful.
I sigh- You might think I'm trying to fuck you again.
Oh.
He knows I've never wanted him.
He begs me not to go where we've already been.
not to pour salt into that still-open wound.
and I obey.
We ride in silence, my thoughts still kept safely to myself.
We pass a highway marker.
Portland's nearly 25 miles closer.
and I sit.
and I think of a man nearly a quarter century my senior.
and I pray that I am not found out.


I'm not half the poet of my passenger-