laundromat

it s SO BORING

she sits on the table, stars in the shattered fragments of her mind and tries to recollect all that happened.

the red window. a gay club. music, that reminder her of her beloved, oh so beloved Berlin, of friends far far away and nights drunken full of crazyness, raving lunatics, a world of its own.
her sister finally unwinding, her playing gay with her sisters best friend and drinking too much mojito.
clubs CLOSE AT ONE OR TWO O CLOCK in los angeles.

she shakes her head in disbelief. the laundry machine weaves rythms into the air. it smells like clean laundry around her and people minding their own business...

AT ONE O CLOCK. now what is that? she tries to think back. once or twice it happened in Berlin that she went out BEFORE ONE O CLOCK. and party ends at noon. or the next day, or evening or at sunrise, but boy, not in the middle of the night, just when people get started!

the beautiful lesbian ehtiopian and kenian women. ah. a cigar. John. sexy motherfucker...
the latino with whom she danced.....a little cheeky smile appears on her face, lits her mind up, fragments all over the place....
sigh.
he said: ah, sexy mami, you and I know how to dance, do we!
she twirls around in her head, 'yes, yes, i do know, and I love it, I was so happy as i haven't been in a very long time! I was thrilled! I guess people must have assumed I am on drugs but i wasn't! I am a natural xtasy wonder! ah, dancing,,....

- the partylife is a side of me that I couldn't possibly think of as a kid. I was totally emerged into nature and the world as a place of trouble, destruction, fear, sadness and hidden treasures.
but simply having fun like that, nah. it took me a little while....'

she pulls out her laundry, tired, her body aches.

the massage. being puzzled about how much she actually could enjoy GIVING a massage...his sighs, moans...her smile, tender energy, the soft feeling of balancing between sexual and therapeutical energy. aaah. his hands...

the machine stops suddenly. the ondragging minutes all evaporated in thin thoughts.....fragments only but disturbing in a sweet way...

his hands...

she folds the clothes together, stuffs them in her bagpack, and angrily carries it to the car.
a convertible mercedes, a wonderful smooth running car. ah.
she throws the bag in the back. ha.
his hands.

and why in the fuck, can't i take it no more?
sense of adventure?
lack of love?

come on.

in the rearview she sees the red flashing sign 'laundromat' disappear in a warm breeze of californian night.

come on.
the automatic....car.....in europe...we have mostly nonautomatic cars...his hands...ah he so beautiful...but still.....i think automatic cars are after all kinda practical.....max' mercedes in berlin......art......installations....his hands...why in the freaking fuck can't i take it no more?

fragments only.
embarassment.
relief of having just escaped a way bigger embarassment.
gosh, i ll have to see this guy many times. he is a friend. don't mess with friends...
his hands...
lips...
and she turns around, driving back to the laundromat where she forgot something important...
her mind, lost in a puzzle.

why, oh why, can't i just let go and take advantage of these beautiful opportunities?
is it, that my love to david sort of conditioned me now in a way that i can't accept making love no more, when there is no love?
ah, paradoxical. fragmental. fear. i am scared. i don't want to be this way. i want to enjoy, simply enjoy.
i don't want to be spun around again and again, like in one of those laundry machines.
no ways.
i don't want to

so what, what shall i do?