Monday September 10, 2012
William S. Burroughs
You tell me tonight while we’re roasting marshmallows over a candle flame, sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor, that you’re excited for us to have a new routine. I forget what you’re referring to, but then I realize it’s irrelevant and yes, I’m excited too. I have a million guesses about what you’re thinking but I just smile small like I don’t have anything better to do. You think I’m mad, I’m not, just thinking. Just wondering if you’d be happier if we went on that camping trip with your high school friends and if I didn’t convince you that it would be a good idea to just smoke some weed and then set up a fort in our bathroom. We’re using old towels so it doesn’t bother me. You seem happy enough because you went out and bought graham crackers and told me to “arrive hungry”. I did. I arrived at our bathroom very hungry. And when I noticed you got baker’s chocolate instead of the semi-sweet I wanted, I pretended like it wasn’t a gross alternative. You smiled when you opened the door and said, “welcome to the jungle” even though if we were to really go camping it most definitely would not be in the jungle. So this routine you’re talking about, I think will be a good thing for us. Maybe a new route to the grocery store and a little more guilt when we walk by the gym with ice cream cones instead of being inside of it with sweat-bands on our foreheads.