Icarus's blog: "Hurts to watch."

Its hard to think when you've got that pervalent dry itch in your throat, and a dryer ache in your head.
Like someone decided to replace that soft pink lining of your trach with the most rugged and gnarly portion of the salt flats.

Beautiful.

But out of place.

Made me wonder if what I was doing was wrong.

Bailing for a mid-morning panic attack
on schedule, very regulation
very tumultous.

Like being a test pilot, only without the fringe benefits of a cool call sign, the actual G's,
twice the nausea
twice the urge to pass out in a sputtering hypochondriacal mess.

Part of me says if she wasn't here- I wouldn't even bother being embarassed. Says I wouldn't notice, says I wouldn't break into a flushed terror every time I adjust my sweaty sack while I walked
reeking of bad cheese and a three week staff infection of the most foul.

My mom always said she could tell when I was sick
by how I smelled.
Smell is important y'know.
Helps us taste.
Shows where we've been, where we belong.
Attracts mates.

All I'm attracting right now is another concerned glance, or more token advice
"geeze kid, you should really see a doctor"

no health insurance
no contest.

Poetic that its my job to give people free health benefits- and I haven't bothered to sneak myself into the damn system.

Not that I would.

I need the money more than I need the health.

Is what I'm doing right?

Which part?
The part where I'm planning my escape for the fifth time in two hours, my allaby, plead and bribery
or the other getaway

the one with fingers phantoming over sheer fabric
and insisting on infidelity from an impractical stranger

What would she say to a weekend in St. Thomas?

I even know the island, the trip, and I have a lovely couple who we can eat dinner with on the second night...

weekend... permanent vacation
just gotta knock over that bank first.

Finance a few diamond bracelets before any pearl necklaces.

That'd be the life...
triple what I'm making,
the autonymy
the anonymity
the sweet silence of two warm bodies pressed together on the white sand.

Out of place...
its all so god damn out of place.
And I'm out of time,
if I'm going to make a dramatic exit
and douse her flames I have to grab my keys
start weezing now.

It'll all hurt less once I start the car.