Thursday, October 13, 2011

four-wheel drive

I wish people had windshield wipers, like cars do.

And we could walk around on sunny days and take the top down and leave everything up to the transmission and the radio and when bugs hit the glass --- everything's fine --- we let the bugs hit the glass.

But when it rains, it pours. And it's a torrential downpour of indecisiveness and what-if's and paper cuts and dirty looks from pretty girls and bad grades and snagged tights and let downs and confusing boys and self pity and could've-been's should've-been's would've-been's and regret and rain rain rain; raining so hard that you can't see two feet in front of you, you can't see where you're supposed to be going and you're so afraid that you're going to hydroplane that you're not even paying attention to the road anyway. It's getting chilly in your car, it's getting very hard to tell between dotted white lines and double yellow lines and you know that there is supposed to be a difference, but it's raining the word "why?" and you can't seem to remember what that difference was.

Yes, windshield wipers would be nice. Because you turn them on --- it's that little lever by the steering wheel, just there --- and then, whap!, all your heartache is gone. And, whap!, there goes your embarrassment, your apprehension, your heat-damaged hair; whap!, there goes your intolerance and your lack of faith, your fear of small spaces and children and spiders alike; whap!, your self-loathing; whap!, the chip on your shoulder and the fight with your mother; whap!, your incompetence; whap!, everything you never did because you were afraid. If it rains harder --- everything's fine --- we've got a higher gear for that. Loss? Heartbreak? Doubt? Guilt? Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! You can see for miles. The rain barely even touches you.

I wish people had windshield wipers, like cars do.

That way, we might not run into each other.

And when someone I hate walks up and says, "Hrm-rm-hrm-Avery-Do-What-I-Say-grrh-grrmm-Don't-Talk-Back-mmrmmrm-Cheer-Up-Be-Nice-Do-Your-Homework-grm-hrmmr-Look-At-Me-When-I'm-Talking-To-You-hrm-ghrmm..." and suddenly it gets rainy enough that I'm having trouble seeing straight and breathing correctly...
I flip on my windshield wipers.

Whap! Whap!

And there they go.
And when the AP homework that is due-at-the-end-of-this-term.. due-next-month-sometime.. due-in-two-weeks.. due-one-week-from-now.. due-the-day-after-tomorrow.. due-tomorrow..... doesn't get done, that's okay that's alright that's fine...

I flip on my windshield wipers.


It's gone, too.

And when the alarm clock goes off when it's still dark outside and I'm expected to drag myself out into the frigid morning air and make myself somewhat presentable for school...
I flip on my windshield wipers.


6 AM and that alarm clock are certainly gone. They don't even exist.
If I don't want to deal with it, whap!, I just don't.

I wish people had windshield wipers, like cars do.

I'd never get lost, or wet.

I'm not going to apologize for behaving badly.
-Avery Jalaine




    What? Who meowed?

    Today, in rehearsal we were working on a part where my lines are, "Babble, babble, babble," for, like, a whole two pages of music, and my director said, "Don't actually say 'babble,' Addy," so I meowed a lot and batted my hands around like I was a cat and thought I was hilarious and everyone else thought I was the dumbest person ever, maybe.

    But you would've laughed.

    And also, this post is so good.

  2. Whap! This is incredible.

    Whap! This is groundbreaking.

    (Yeah I still read your blog.... religiously. No pressure.)


Oh thanks. You're pretty.