24o. I listen to the radio when I read alone

08Aug11

Or rather, I start listening to a radio program, and slowly surely I get distracted and start reading to the low hum of voices. Usually NPR programs that have been heard before, or an interview that isn’t catching my attention.

It’s a quiet moment where no one is in the same state, and I am burnt lazy. My legs were dipped in fire long enough to turn the carapace red, and the rest of me is touched with heat. It’s nice in the way that pain is usually nice, pushing things into a weird shity perspective.

I should mention the fever rises and dies, depending on drugs and exertion.

We drove long and arrived late, and watched anime and limped around. Firefly’s back was- well, bad. Bad enough that that leads into today, the ER quiet and the waiting and waiting, awkward conversation. His mother was there, and there was this bizarre moment where I started to step back to let his mom by his side, and he grabbed my hand instead. Huh.

A few days ago, he jumped up from bed, slightly panicked, muttering about how he needed to check something, and he tore his bag apart in a frenzy. He stopped, let out a full-body-release sigh, and fiddled with something around his neck. It was the octopus necklace I gave him forever ago, that matches mine. He wears it everyday. I forget this somehow. And he just wrapped his fingers around it, tipped his head back and flopped back down, telling me about how he took it off at the beach. I’m wearing it right now, as he went to get x-rays done at some point, gave it to me to wear. The edges are slightly worn from his fingers.

Now everyone is home and resting.

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