Adventures in Notebooks
by Blair Emsick
Excerpts from my journals between 2007-2015
“What are you writing, son?”
“I'm writing a song.”
“Will you sing it for me, boy?”
“No, I am writing a song.”
Every day's like this.
Yesterday a piece of fruit spat at me, we can only hope it was unintentional.
Yesterday a wall was polite enough to keep me at a safe distance from people.
Yesterday I had an idea, that's too yellowed now to even look pretty.
He wore argyle today. I'm not sure what I expected. A reverie of sorts, a crown maybe. In my mind there seems to be no limits. Destined to be alone at sixteen. Abandoning the boys who to tell their friends they think you're pretty.
Sleep in. Drive. Shop. Laugh. Learn. Pick up. Try on. Buy for. Drive to. Sing loud. Scoot closer. Move over. Take off. Jump in. Sing Louder. Sit down. Swallow. Smoke. Drive. Sing. Wander. Embrace. Smoke. Smoke. Smoke.
Today's one of those days when you haven't gotten much sleep and everything is like a dream. The social control this institution has instilled upon me has disappeared. Faded away with the warm gleam of the noon sun. Now I can't quite figure out why I'm here.
I'm trying to be released from the confines of my self-doubt. Like a radio. And then there's an unspoken lust. Oh dear it sends me sweet sweet chills. A lurch in my gut like a light has been turned on. It's kinda magical. But in real life it's a sweaty struggle.
I quickly realized between the fourth and fifth sunflower seed I had downed that someone had sucked all the salt off every one and spat them back in the bag. All the seeds are now flavorless and soggy.
Holy fucking shit balls fuck. I blacked out Friday night. Woke up in my wrecked car to people telling me to get out of it. Didn't feel anything. Been feeling very dark lately. Very Scared. Alone.
It is the beginning of new literary endeavors. Just kidding I am a bum. And I have lost the ability to discern demons amongst angels. They have all become one strange face.
Phoneless. Carless. Tamponless. Mindless. I found two vocabulary cards in a book today. “Quest” and “Abyss”. The act of looking for something, and a great big hole.
I'm pretending you're gonna remember this moment forever. The night air sweats against my window. I wiggle my hips slow, vertical, horizontal, and diagonal. And I'm taking everything I said back - about not trusting you, about seeing nothing in your eyes.
I feel cool, the coolness that comes both with a self-contentedness and the window being open. Spent a good time comparing myself to the beautiful women on my facebook feed. Then realized how tired I am of trying to attract anyone. How perfectly content I am to be alone.
Blair Emsick is a writer/cashier living in a mealy wormhole called Omaha. She is on an interminable quest to find salvation through her words and those of others.