Annie (emoannie420) wrote,

Reply to Sara

Catching up with Sara about a few things.

The message was this:
are you staying in indiana? whatchu up to?

I replied with this:
Yeah, I am going to get an apartment with Amanda and Joe, Amanda and I move in November 1st. Steve and I broke up because he had been talking to another girl on the phone since the beginning of october, and he lied to me about it. It was a weird situation. Also, I sent Charles Taylor a text saying, "You should read A Coney Island of the Mind" by Lawrence Ferlinghetti" because I knew he didn't have text, and assumed he would either not get it or get it and never call. Strangely enough, Charles called me 3 minutes after I sent the text, and left a message that said, "Yeah, I...I have,'ve you been?", which sounded completely sincere. I didn't answer or call back when he called that time, but I listened to that message more than twenty times, but wasn't planning on calling him. Then, he called me at 1:05 a.m. the same night. We talked for 20 minutes about life, and then I told him I had to go to sleep. He called me again two days later, just to talk. I also got off the phone that time after about 10 minutes. I am not capable of talking with him for long spans of time because it fills my head with relentless hope.

Anyways, I'm in Hampton right now for my lame birthday, a dentist appointment on the 29th, and to get the rest of my things that I will be needing, like my bed, etc.
Life is being very weird. I don't like it in Hampton, except for the few reasons that I had to scrape up from my mind, which are: travis is here, my friends are here, my dad and brother are here, molly is cute, and most of the time the weather is very moderate in the fall (not too cold, not too hot). Other than that, seeing an empty room, that once contained some form of liveliness through my personal belongings, put a pot hole in my stomach, and maybe the graying look that someone abandoned it hurt a bit more. The thing that really helped me realize that I have made the right choice in leaving is the ice cream truck, and it's ridiculously redundant music that sounds like an eternally dying carnival. I was sitting on the new porch in a rocking chair, and the music started silently creeping in to my reality; almost as if it were trying to pass by unnoticed, and was ashamed that it was making such a spectacle due to lack of "business". As it rolled by the house, it told me stories of the staleness of Hampton, Virginia. It told me that nothing changes for people here, and that made the pot hole crackle and grow deeper and wider. I didn't want to stay the rest of the week because of it. I knew at that moment that there is nothing to look forward too, and no reason to search for any kind of activity that may bring some form of solace. It is over between Hampton and I. The faux love affair with "home" has doubtlessly met it's end.
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