flack attack

i saw this thing crawling across marshall ave last sunday at dusk. i was on the porch, having a cigarette in the lovely evening weather and this creature moving with such an eerie air crawled across the street. at first i thought it was a paper bag, as the back half looked flat, then i thought it was a mole or some such variation, with flexible flesh for tunneling, but then i saw that it was a common squirrel that had been run over, his hind legs dragging, his torso paper thin.
he moved across the street in a determined fashion, but not quickly. he was almost hit by two other cars on the journey, disappearing under their carriages only to emerge again still moving, still carrying his dead body. and once he made it to the other side he wasn't able to hoist himself over the curb. he couldn't even rest his little squirrel elbows on the ledge, as i'm certain that his other bones would fold, crumple beneath him.
he finally found a way to slide sideways, over the pretty, cream cement incline. families and couples and dogs (oh god, the tiny nightmares that passed through me when i realized the long-leashed dogs might sniff him out) passed him by, just a few feet of sod and this thing was starting it's own terrible death rot. the yard he was able to perch himself on was vast, quite scenic. a woman in khaki shorts, a hat, was gardening just next to the porch and squirrel continued to press forward, almost like he wanted to reach her.
how terrible it would have been. she'd be in a serene state of mind, probably using one of those beautiful gardening tools to smooth the soil around a hydrangea bush, maybe humming or revising a conversation she wanted to have with her son about the slut he was dating. in a pause or in between breaths she'd turn, before she even know why or how for, and there he'd be, this wild, wicked pet of death. his mangled body, his little teeth.
i wasn't able to watch him finally die. i couldn't take my eyes away for several minutes and then, i just wanted to leave it all alone.

a drip (adrift)

i keep writing posts that get ate up by the dark pit of this lame-brain computer. i could kill it dead most days.
the preparations for year abroad (year o' broads) continue in the small, slippery steps they offer. i feel very ready to leave most days and then something will happen and i'll feel completely unprepared, naked to the concept of getting up and going. mostly i'm excited and the standard jitters add to the overall experience.
for instance, this morning i was walking to my car from my love's apartment. i was feeling dingy as there were no clean clothes, i didn't have time to shower and i generally felt sickening. i walked down the flannel carpeted hallway and into the cheesey 70's entryway and once out on the street it was so gloriously springy. the last few days of rain have made the plantlife lush and sumptuous with color and body. it's like a woman coming out a depression and eating again, laughing again. the warm, yellow sun, the shiny blacktop still a bit saturated.
yesterday when i was walking out to may car i found a bouquet of lillies positioned in front of my driver's side door. honestly! it was like someone had come to place them there but i think someone dropped them there on accident, or threw them from a window. i put them in my car, brought them to work and cleaned them up and put them in a little gold vase that i found in one of the break room cupboards. it has an embelm on it that reads "thanks", which i find appropriate. now my desk smells like the outside world i wish i could lounge in all day.
the bad things about getting ready to leave are the helplessness, the necessity. money, days ticking by, these things don't help. friends who call and say, "you're leaving and i'll never get to see you. you have to come hang out tonight." this is dumb, well intended, i'm sure, but dumb. so say i do go meet said friend for a drink or something, under the pretense that we'll be apart for a long time and it's in order to drink this drink together, the entire event is revolving around something sad and disappointing. it isn't a natural, relaxed good-bye. besides the fact that i was pressured into it. oh well. it's still nice to see friends and feel the sad good-bye.
there is still so much i'd like to do. i have to fix my computer and my camera. i have to buy a fucking expensive as shit backpack from rei and maybe a little roll up sleeping bag. all these things are tied up in how ready i am. so i have to go. bye.