Dammit, Get a Hold of Yourself, Man! Part One

I found Court in the bathroom standing in front of the hand dryer this morning with his forehead against the wall and his hands resting on the little shelf on the bottom of the unit. It's a light-activated one that senses when your hands are inside, and for some reason there's a little ledge on the bottom that's just big enough for your hands to rest. Court's eyes were closed and his mouth was open with his teeth showing. With his neck jutting out towards the wall like that, he looked like a mannequin trying to take a bite of the wall.

I've never seen a man sleeping standing up before. I wanted to take a picture, but I never had any film, so I woke him up. He must have somehow found a mysterious balance against the hand dryer that was disturbed the moment he started to move. Used to waking up lying down, he almost toppled over, but the door to one of the shower stalls was there to catch him and he just whacked his elbow against the corner.

"Ow!" was the first thing he said. Actually, it was much more of a noise than that, like a coma victim waking up screaming at an impact that landed three weeks ago. I think he must've been embarrased at how loud it was, but he was tired and mad enough to ignore that.

"Was I here all night?"

His real name isn't anything even like Court, it's Logan. What the hell?

He shook his arm and flexed his hands, once, fast, again, very slowly. He made another noise because this hurt him a lot. His hands were like he'd spent a night out in the cold. The skin between his fingers and down his hand broke up into rough scales, and when he closed his fist I could see red between the cracks on his knuckles.

If Court weren't so lazy he could probably be a jackass.

"Fuck, I think I killed my hand. Fuck. Do you have any like cream for this?" This seemed to represent his awareness of my presence, and like everything else so far, was a stupid thing to say. I'm lucky I even have toothpaste, the way I take care of myself.

Josephine walked in then, passed by us and made for the other wall of sinks. She had a basketful of squeeze tubes and a washcloth in one hand and some sort of feeling showing on her face that I guess was supposed to mean 'good morning, don't talk to me.' She's nice in the afternoon. Court pulled himself away from the stall door to saunter towards her.

"Hey, do you have any hand cream I can use?" he asked, blinking at his reflection in the long mirror.

"Shut up, Court," she said in a voice like she was singing mezzo. Court sounded the way his hand looked. He also seemed to think himself a victim of circumstance.

"What the hell? Come on, I fell asleep at the hand dryer. I think I burned off a whole layer of skin." For emphasis, he thrust his dry and bleeding hands underneath her face, which she had just moistened and was rubbing her creamy stuff onto.

"Ew, fuck off! Alright, just wait a second." The rest of what she said was spoken through the washcloth scrubbing her face. "How do you fall asleep at the dryer, anyway?"

"I was working on a stupid essay and I just came in here to take a piss, and I dunno."

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, thanks." He managed. Then his whole body suddenly tensed up and his eyes widened, and he seemed more awake than he'd been in weeks. "Oh fuck, I bet I left my door open."

Then he ran out of the room. Josephine dunked her head in the sink, which surprised me. I don't think they cleaned the sink bowls.

From in the hallway, Court yelled "shit!" loud enough to wake the floor, which made me laugh and then yawn. I dried my hands off and left, happy.

- - - - -


Bloggin': My group sucks but my movie's awesome. I'll try to post a web version of it so's youse can have a look. Byron and me spent 4 solid days editing and burning that bastard. Actually, it was more like 3 hours editing it on his sweet li''le computer, during which we loved Macs with all the sunny goodness of our hearts, and then 3 3/4 days trying to get the fucking G4 to burn the goddam disc, during which we hated Mac and all things Apple Computers witht he abiding passion of a thousand white giant suns.

When the G4 works, it's like sweet lovely. When it suddenly doesn't, you're in a whole other world. A world of hurt.

Now, this is an aside, but while I was living in Byron's basement, Leora remarked that I was starting to look like Byron, wif my long nappy hair.

In honor and recognition of this, she suggested we form a band with Caedmon and call ourselves the Three Jesuses. The coincidence is that only moments before, Byron and me had decided on a different, perhaps equally genius name for our band (which I don't recall Caedmon ever having been interested in joining): The Ascending Wowtones.

Later, though, Byron started to seriously warm up to The Three Jesuses. And by seriously, I mean the idea of us forming a band is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. His idea was for us to be some kinda metal band, and the three Jesuses are the Dead one (Caedmon), and the Living and Resurrected ones, which me and Byron would alternate being, 'cause both of them have their own advantages. But it Jesuses grammatically correct? Should it be the three Jesi?

About that band, my idea is that no one in it except Byron will be any damn good with their instrument, and Byron's on bass. No one else with any ability to play in a band, except maybe Dave, will be allowed in. So basically, if you're reading, you can probably join our band. Why not Sign Up in the "Guestbook," also known as the autumn graveyard of broken dreams.

Bloggin2, the Legend Continues: This time a' year it seems everyone's lonely and sucks. What the hell is wrong with you? Oh wait, I'm lonely and I suck too. Fuck.

Know what we need? Disco bowling at the bowlerama across from the Peek Freans cookie factory. Yeeah boooy.

Or something, anyway. I live in a freaking box. And there's snow outside. I demand you come to me. Or have me over at your house. Or come sledding.