télos is a tumblelog.

It was late July and I was reading Moby-Dick. She was in the process of quitting her shitty waitressing job, and I was in between jobs at the moment, spending the long, hot afternoons reading in a hammock on the back porch of our house, which was situated practically on top of the railroad tracks, which meant cheap rent (the fact that you had to walk through the bathroom if you wanted to reach the kitchen or the living room didn’t hurt matters, there, either) and neither of us knew what we wanted, but it wasn’t this, to be in our late twenties and jobless, living near the college where we both attained our overpriced, undervalued degrees (hers in English, mine in Anthropology).
Anyway, she walked home from work that day because we were saving the gas in the car for “a real emergency” and it was hot and she was pissed, pissed at her boss and pissed at the heat and pissed that there wasn’t a sidewalk after the first half mile and pissed at me, lounging in my hammock and waiting on the trains. I’d been intermittently reading and dozing that afternoon, and my dreams were interwoven with salty boats and sea creatures and madness, and she slammed through the house and into the back yard like a storm.
The fight that came next had been brewing all summer, twisting through infancy and into fevered adolescence while we pinched smiles at each other across the living room each night, saying sweet things we didn’t think we meant anymore in the ghost-glare of the television screen.

i don’t know where to go nexxxxttttt

i don’t know how to write about people fightinnnggg

ugh

(via thatbeautifulday)

Just write whatever comes. Worry about editing later.