She lays on the couch in an apartment that doesn’t belong to her, and she wonders what she’ll do. She left her own a week ago, disillusioned by high hopes of living alone in the city, she’s decided to pay a friend to sublet a couch for awhile.
She slides out the front door before anyone is awake; she doesn’t want to disturb any sleep with her senseless leaving. The sky is gray, overcast with the threat of rain, yet she walks wearing only her pale sundress and sandals. She shivers, feeling rain hit her hair and shoulders. Her hair hangs down her back, stringy and dull, and as she walks she pushes it back with her hand.
A dog sits in the yard that she left, puzzled by her sudden exit, but all too soon he has forgotten her for the scent of another.
Her walk seems endless; how far was it again? she wonders, picking up the pace. There is a time limit to these things. The day is slipping from her already, the sun threatening to peek out from behind buildings and skyscrapers any minute now.
Back in the darkened apartment, the shades are thrust open and the day is welcomed. The inhabitants move about their routines as if they knew nothing else but the motions. Their eyes are dull.
She noticed that last night, as they were sitting around. Coffee cups lay scattered on the coffee table, among packs of cigarettes and an ashtray or two. Her eyes never left his face, but he didn’t notice. He watched the girl in the corner; he watched her every move. And she noticed, feeling her heart fill up with tears that would never come. They sipped hot drinks and made cool conversation, the motions of any social gathering set. As night drifted off, the guests made their exit. They were the last to go. He slipped his hand up to hold her back, finding the natural curve and moving in. She felt her spirit crack, then, and she busied herself in the clean up that she did not want to do.
She lay there, tucked away for the night, and imagined his face. And hers was suddenly wet with hot tears, blown cool by the air. She saw the girl: blond hair falling on a perfect pink cheek, blue eyes bright with laughter, small hands clasping the coffee cups and cookies. She swore she saw the girl’s finger extended in some sort of class-traversing motion. She thought of the girl’s sweet nature, the way the girl had told her it was “nice to meet you” before stealing him away out the door, the way the girl had thanked her for a lovely evening.
She lay there and she cried until she was clean enough to take the world again, and then she left.
They found the note later, too late, as it always goes. It was written hastily, a scribble on the back of a paper for an old college class.
And as they are reading it, clutching the note in their worried hands, she is running toward her goal. She vaults off the rocks beautifully, opening her arms to her fate. The cold spray hits her face, stinging her eyes, but she keeps them open, watching the gulls and the fish twist together as the waves overtake her fragile body. She floats as though sleeping on air, hair out behind her, dress billowing in the water. They never figured out why, nor how, she did it. They never found her. Still, she floats like the fish she always wanted to be, swimming aimlessly from place to place in her own little sea.

Record setting temperatures. 73 degrees on Tuesday. We spent the day at the beach, walking and sitting on the pier-ish thing that leads to the small lighthouse-esque place. I got my midterms back: 96 in Sociology, 94 in Poetry, 95 in Women in Religion. The only test I may have possibly bombed was Communication Processes, so we’ll see. I have a paper due for Communication Practices in a little under two hours, and I’m about two paragraphs in.
We went shopping yesterday. I tried to get a giant pot to cook corned beef and cabbage in, but I was unsuccessful. I bought a pair of pink pumps for $8. They’re used and dirty, but they’re gorgeous. Emily and I had dinner at Clarke’s on Belmont and then took a cab (due to sudden onset of illness) to Ryan’s house, where we watched a movie and spent the night. Again. Three in a row, which is fine with me. A little after one, I heard Becky’s voice calling down the hall. There was a giant bug in her room, which I proceeded to smash with a Kleenex box while screaming. Since we were both perched on the edge of the bed, it tipped up, sending us sliding down toward the floor (and the bug) and once it was over, we laughed as we found a scratch on the wall from the bed tipping up toward heaven.
This morning, since I am CTA pass-less, I tried to get through the train station with cards that probably have no money on them. The station man heard us talking about Honors Biology, so when I couldn’t get through, he held them up and told me we were going to have check them. He peppered his language with made up biology terms, and he absolutely made my day. He found the problem: it was the calcination of the magnetic strip. Ha. And then he let me through.
Settling back into routine. I don’t want it to snow, which it will Thursday.

Colorado: Sunday on the way to the Airport

Sunny day in Chicago 3-13-07

There’s nothing to say, not right now.

Things are falling apart,

while others are coming together.

Who knows what this year will bring?

I don’t.

They all love another,

instead of the one they should.

I still have a job when I come home, hopefully with a raise included. The only downside to this is that I am being transplanted from Colorado Blvd to the store in Highland’s Ranch. But, I’ll be second in command behind Heidi at that store.
Ah, summer work. I will be able to get 30-4o hours per week, and if I’m making nine or ten dollars, I may end up with a nice amount of money for school next year.

I fell asleep to the sound of silence; the smoke detector quiet after twenty minutes of playing around with it. We slept in our clothes, in a borrowed bed, in a house that was not remotely ours, and we slept apart. My foot touched his leg before the sleep set in, and he kicked my legs away and grabbed my waist and told me I was icy and he wasn’t sure he could spend the next few hours next to me. I laughed slightly, but not before I realized what I really want. Him.
We went to Jerry Springer this afternoon. We sat in the second row, and I shook Jerry Springer’s hand. I’ll have to describe it later; it was insane and exhausting. Smutty, a lovely afternoon break from everything.
Afterward, we took a cab from the studio and went out for soup at Chicago’s best soup bar. I had Mexican tortilla soup. And I loved it.
And now, with a headache, I am feeling worse for the wear and desperately in need of sleep.

We have made plans to attend a live taping of the Jerry Springer Show, famous for showcasing the strange on television for millions of viewers. I read a whole article about how daytime television pretends to shelter, but only ends up exploiting the “guests.” As of Monday, February 19th at 5:15 pm, I will have been a part of the talk show phenomenon that has left millions of people with lower IQs and expectations.
I’ll post pictures soon of the snow. Only a few inches fell, but the lake was beautiful. Still, though, it has not risen above freezing in weeks, and I feel as though when spring comes, my body will need to thaw for days before I reach normal temperature. I’ve been keeping my room at an unnaturally warm temperature, upwards of 75, and I love it.
I took a study break on Tuesday night and went over to sleep on the couch again with the cat. There’s something wonderful about the city of Chicago in the morning, something I have never really appreciated since I do everything in my power to avoid seeing light before noon. Walking back to the train, we pass a busy street. From the relative quiet of the neighborhood, with it’s crunching snow and silent houses, to Argyle, with chickens hanging from hooks and the thick smell of Vietnamese food in the air is quite the contradiction, and while waiting for the train, there are times when strains of Mexican music floats up to the tracks. I wish I had words to describe the differences between the definition of “urban” as I know it in Denver and the one that I am experiencing here. The train sways back and forth and comes routinely. The people do too. Cars stop, go, stop, go and honk.
I know nothing about the streets here, so watching the cars is an odd experience for me. On the rare occasion that I am in a car, I find myself in awe of the movement that it has. Funny, because that’s one of the things I definitely take for granted at home. Here, however, it is all walking or public transportation, which in itself is an adventure.
I should be reading about the Hindu religion for my next class.

With the Super Bowl rapidly approaching, the excitement around Chicago is climbing. That is not true of the temperature, which keeps falling. The high tomorrow is supposed to be 2 degrees, which does not bode well for my walk home. I am currently situated somewhere north of downtown and south of school, off the Argyle stop on the train. After that, it is a ten minute walk to the house that houses the couch I have been calling home for the past couple of nights. I have slept on it no less than three times since meeting its owners a few weeks ago. Emily spends a lot of time here, since two of the three inhabitants are from St. Louis.
I am cold. Today, adventure by car to Chinatown, further south than I had been previously. And then to another apartment, in an unfriendly neighborhood, although it was filled with welcoming individuals.
I am also tired and unsure as to the sudden onset of exhaustion.
Perhaps sleep will come tonight, perhaps I shall have to wait until tomorrow. Ha, no, the big game. Go Bears!