what up, what up

the words in my head are like a swirly tornado. tempestuous and dangerous, but mostly air, but every once in a while, a cow or a VW van, and those hurt, or at least smack you pretty hard, and in the case of the van, they might kill you.

I want a crown of gardenias

and a king-size bed with four posts that I'll drape Christmas lights around with a big down comforter, one that's white, one that's covered in my clothing on the left two thirds because I only need a third of a king bed to sleep on. but I can clear off the other two thirds for a guest if I REALLY like them, and I REALLY like not that many people, actually.

I want my own trolley to ride around America on a track crafted with the signed-in-writing promises of a people welded together by the pitfalls of life, the crests of the good seasons, the days when the leaves look like fall but they don't, cause it's spring, and the fireflies are out.

I just held a turtle and he crawled back into his shell, but it's probably just cause I was smiling so big cause I was holding a turtle! There are a lot of things I don't know how to explain, like how living near a good coffee shop makes my soul feel like it's resting in sunshine, or how heartbreak is thrilling, or how New York is impossible to parallel and just like everywhere else at the same time, or how I think I know how to love a turtle more than I know how to love a dog.

I'm too young to be a hippie, too young to be a yuppie, too young to be a beatnik, too young to be a hipster, even, but every label I'm too young for is just one more I don't need to sport, just one more I can learn from. and whichever bandwagon I hop on, it will have its certain smell, you know, its certain decor. and I don't know where it's going, but I know I like it, because I'm on it, and I don't hop on things I don't like. if I can help it.

and don't you know, I always do my best to help it.

and the part of my best that isn't good enough is being subjected to the wrong judge. as in, no bed-clearing for you! but I'll lend you my spare pillow.

Monday, Monday

why so screwy, font? sigh..

***

Your depths made a pressure that punctured my works
and all your fluids couldn't tolerate the force of my thirst
I love the place, where we shared our tiny grace
But just because it's real don't mean it's going to work

--"True Affections" by The Blow

She closed with this song tonight at The Drunken Unicorn, and I danced like I dance, and sang all the words I knew, and reflected on the life I've lived while loving this song, which feels like a lot.

I talked to her after the show and told her that her music fills a void in my music taste that I didn't really know I had, but that I'm glad that she fills it. She thanked me for standing in the front row :) and then she signed the poster I stole from the wall.

I just love nights like these. Pondering events of life with Mol and looking forward to new adventures and contemplating choices we've made and choices we're about to make.

And as I drove home and sang along with Ingrid to the song I think I'll get married to once I find someone who can take me on, I remembered the mixes I've made and the paper hearts I've cut out and the letters I've written and thought, I'm good at loving.

And you know, that's better than being good at being loved. And musing on that put me at an ease that counteracted my typical drive to think less. I let me think all my thoughts, and I smiled.