stagnant like home

we will heap ourselves on top of each other on a bed with sheets that dont stay put and we will go through my books and read parts our loud. sometimes we will listen to music and not say a word. we will pass out for a few minutes to the sound of ryan reading out facts about hurricanes and minimum wage and wake up with a start. for a second we wont remember where we are and then it will come back to us like a memory does when you hear the first notes of a song, and it will feel familiar and right that we have been here all day, surviving off the meal we had hours ago, the only time we left the house, and the half empty box of reduced fat wheat thins that we passed around to unidentifiable hands, all of us heavy with the weight of the day dying. the only time we would leave was to smoke a cigarette on the balcony, the brief interludes that punctuated an otherwise stagnant day. it was stagnant the way cartoons and the smell of bacon are. like home is a necessarily stagnant place. like the way everytime i left the room for a second and came back in it smelled like the combinations of all of our smells, all of us marinating in each other. hours and hours will pass, we will laugh about how i thought thursday was friday, and didnt know until today that i was terribly wrong and today is only saturday, we will talk about peppercinis and london, the gallup pole and how i cried when schwartzenegger was elected, as if it was all on the same plane of importance, as if kerry being 11 points behind bush is the same as wondering what would happen if one of them took my birth control. we will lay there and sink into ourselves and each others faces and soon it will feel like we are all just more framed posters on my walls, more clutter on the floor, more bunched up dirty blankets on my unmade bed.