vanilla raindrops

email: noreia@planet-save.com.

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United States, California, sometimes Steiermark, Austria, something bored teenagers say when they speak useless words into brick walls of cotton candy, English, German, Noreia,creative writing, fiction, reading, college student, strange, cat power, mogwai, arap strap, dresden dolls, white oleander, the earth, my butt, and other big, round things, welcome to the dollhouse, fuckers.

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by BodyPUNKS!

 

"the world is coming to an end, but at least i have my right hand!" -- ian.

driving home from spike's house, sleepy, this morning, i switched on the radio and listened for the first time to sarah and no name's morning show. got home, wanted to hear what they were talking about, so i put on headphones, and now i've been wearing them for about two hours. or three. they played creed's "take me higher," and i thought of walking around in my old high school campus, loose, faded jeans, ripped at the bottom, and my dark, charcoal-grey sweater from my aunt dagmar in austria. i thought of the way my backpack used to fit me, the black straps around my shoulders. my hair hanging around my face. feeling the wind, watching the trees. i worked for the counseling office, delivering call slips all over the school. i loved just taking my time, walking, knowing for the first time in four years where every classroom on campus was located. thinking about jeremy or spike. listening to my purple and grey, five-dollar cassette walkman from walgreens. (i bought about four or five of those because they kept breaking. eventually i had earphones with only one side working, but i liked it because i could listen to music and still be aware of my surroundings.)

it was a quiet year, senior year. a year of changing and finding myself, alone. lonely but beautifully cold somehow, myself in the world. everything fit so well into place that year, made so much sense the way it was. buying used pearl jam records at rasputin for two dollars. listening to jeremy's tapes, the dying batteries in my walkman making savage garden's normally peppy voice low and in slow motion, which i actually liked better. or spike's tape, crazy teenager punk. writing in black, spiral-bound notebook-journals. writing nonsensical, pass-it-back-and-forth stories with christina, looking forward to that, laughing more than ever. or how mr. broderson, our biology teacher, would just kind of sigh and laugh at us because we were such odd-balls, sitting in the back of the classroom with two feet of empty desks around us in all directions because -- well, i guess everyone else thought we were too weird. but it was so much fun. writing those stories that sounded so ridiculously funny, bursting into laughter in the middle of class. (broderson told us to watch the movie "ghost world," said i reminded him of the girl in it. i watched it and thought that was really funny.) or like the time broderson was showing us clear plastic models of chromosomes on a slide projector, and he lost one and said, "i'm missing a chromosome here." and i said, "that's gotta hurt." christina's loud, contagious giggle. i miss her. she was just a nice person, didn't seem to care about all the petty things that so many people care about in high school. when i met her i never thought i'd end up hanging out with her a lot, but when i got into a lot of her classes and she was the only one i knew, we ended up talking a lot and becoming the outcastish class clowns -- but only we knew we were the class clowns; everyone else just looked at us strangely in our fits of laughter. (it was probably my fault that she failed government . . . hmm . . .)

everyone else complained about it, but i loved high school. especially senior year.

Posted by: noreia at 10:17 | link | comments |