Just a souvenir by your bedside.
Who is Jill? Been thinking about that one for a while now. Jill is the path of least resistance on a path that’s too long for the scenic route. Jill is a steady exercise that builds a stout musculature in the tissues no one will care to notice. Jill is a reliable intermediate between happy and sad where your headspace is actually completely beside the point. Jill is an order of chicken tikka masala on a rail car to Delhi. As you can see, all I’ve come up with are alternate lyrics to the 1995 Alanis Morisette embarrassment, “Ironic.”
I spend half my time trying to be more like Jill and the other half trying to be nothing like Jill. Sometimes she knows before I even say the word and goddamit if she will always be a part of me. Whether I like it or not. She left San Francisco on Friday, possibly forever, for the greener pastures of Chicago. This appears to be a large city in the American Midwest. With a minimum of adverbs (and with Nick T.), we unsentimentally sucked down one final beer at the bottom of Potrero Hill amidst subject-predicate-object conversation. Jill is the opposite of so many people. All this is why I love Jill.
[audio:Alanis Morisette_Ironic.mp3]
