I’ve decided.
That I will get my English degree. Minor in German or Psych or whatever catches my fancy. Travel. Find a small school that specialized in fiber arts. Weave for the rest of my life. Be inordinately happy. Own a small business on a busy street, somewhere in New England. Or maybe somewhere entirely random.
I want to weave and create and feel soft fabric and warmth. I want to paint and hear the colors and sing them out loud. I want to writewritewrite. It has been years, now. Years since a story a word a breath of something that isn’t
In other news. I fail at being away from you. I fail at being away from all of you. I am alone and lonely, and I am too afraid to click with anyone here, and even if I wanted to I don’t know how to reach the few I’ve liked.
I want to drink and drown and I wished I smoked, so I had something to do with my hands.
And I am fine. Promise. I am the stable one, right now. I can hold multitude of sorrow, and be alright. I can’t wait until we’re together again, laughing and falling and being us.
Letters to _____.
My little mouse, my willowy bebah, I will give you snuggles and contact, and punch him because he should be there work or not.
I want to laugh with you, my vivid wonderfully strong beauty, because you deal with the world and you make it glow, and yet you find strength for others. I’m so sorry for all the pain and anxiety and crapstorm, and words aren’t helpful but we will go to Thali’s and laugh and cry and watch bad movies. You deserve it all.
My gingerbread, I want to smash the toy aisle with you and go to playgrounds and plant a vegetable garden and get sparkling grape juice and talk for hours on end, and we will.
My wonderful pokemans bebah there will be cuddlepiles and games and gossip and I love you so much. You’ve done so much for long and for so many and I’m here, promise.
My older sisters, it’ll work out. Demonic one, it sucks now but soon you will be free of this and you’ll be off scaring small children in a library somewhere, and you’ll be totally awesome. Culinary genius, it’ll be okay. Life is that fragile and you value so much, but we are here and alive and so happy that you are too.
And you, lover, I know you are stronger than that and I have every type of trust in you, and there will be fireworks when we are home and together.
My other half(s). Gods, do you know how much I admire you, how much I love you? I want to hold you, babydoll. I am so, so sorry for your loss and the upheaval and change and pain, and how strong you have to be and how hard it is to have been at odds and not there and. You are incredible. We are not gonna lose touch, no way no how.
Everyone is falling apart, happy November. Pain and suffering and we. will. make it. Promise. All of us. No child left behind, even if we are no longer children.
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I lounged in the sunlight and read Rushdie and E Lynn Harris and listening to the sounds of campus and felt the wind play with my hair and felt wholly content.
A weekend of love, family, really odd jelly beans, weird Asian movies, skirts and a fourth ear piercing. A Friday of shopping with my roommate and generally having fun. A feverish desire to be at home and be surround by the most amazing people.
A love that seems to eclipse myself and spill everywhere.
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and more and more I realize that I don’t think of thoughts as owned, as property. I don’t know when to withhold and when to give, because all I am belongs to all I love.
A terrible feeling. Crying with someone in the room, and neither of you acknowledging it. Shame embarrassment and I don’t like myself right now. Too weak. Too damaged. Too fucking much.
Why couldn’t I have been born a mollusk or something? Far less complex.
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the minnow and the trout.
a kite. the geiby rainbow sperm kite. (We love you, Tiberius) Sitting with the windows open and the wondrous expanse of sky and fresh cool breezes brushing past. Family. Sleeping entangled. Kiriku and the Sorceress. Fresh laundry. Geekery. Song. Schmoopy mixtapes. New bras and panties. Taking off new bras and panties. lovelovelove. Bitch, weirdo, baby, darling. An’ everything is fine as long as I’m in your arms.
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tomorrowtomorrowtomorrow.
boy. boyboyboyboyboyboy! sleep? HAH. Milton? Away with ye! My person is coming. The one who makes me people.
Also, e. e. cummings helps not with the wait. For he is most mad and moonly and like this said he if you kiss said she and my love. Mine, mine, love love (mine love
lovely.)
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for the love of god shoot me now
I though, after yesterday, I’d be fine! It was just a throat thing, I’ve slept it off, woo!
…I couldn’t sleep. One, there were people in the room. Two, lights. Three, every few minutes I’d have to cough or sniffle or generally be miserable. And dratted roomie woke at 5 in the morning. Fuck that noise.
So I shower. I go to class. I take the fifteen minute quiz. I actaully walk out of class, so intenet on not throwing up on the teacher. Hot cold hot cold headache ears ache throat aches hack cough dizzy nauseous. Well fuck me sideways, it’s the flu after all. With my luck, the piggy variety. Explains why I feel so shitacular. it has a runtime of three days, so one more to go.
What are good anti-nausea foods? The thought of crackers has me dry-heaving. Ditto with everything in my fridge. And despite the fact that I can’t hold shit down, I’m starving.
Also, one ear just popped. I just love the feeling of the room spinning, don’t you? I have taken a decongestant and a fever reliever. I want the ear-thing and headache and nausea to stopstopstop.
I want to go home. I want my mommy. I want to punch my suitemate, just because this time she was justified in being wary of the sick one.
Also doing the alcohol program when nauseous is fucking cruel. I felt sick with every picture.
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aluminum city
family and crabs-crabs-crabs! Dreams of pink maple leaves and wide lawns. Walks and running lines and smooties of win and chai.
Discussions of friendship. The types and variations and flavors, and the lucky nature of those that have multiple. The ones you protect. The one who protect you. The ones who’ll fight your battles with you. The ones who just plain fight. The moth-to-a-flame. The crush-friends. The cuddly-friend. The harmony-friend. The same-wavelength friend. The acquaintance. The respectfully-friends. The abuse-friends. The sexy-friends. The sarcasm-sisters. The ones that you don’t talk to, don’t confide in, yet for some reason you would die for. The sisters. The brothers. The children. The momma. The duckling. The electric-wit friend. The honest friend. The frienemies. The soulmates. The laughter-friends. The shoulder-tears-friends. And every combination thereof.
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Cuddle puddles and Renaissance Fair and changing rooms and a brown-creamlace bodice. Rain and sylvan forests and suggestions and shivers. ‘Mmmm’ pretty much sums up the weekend.
Today, a migraine headache and an end of tolerance for the guy who interrupts the teacher during discussion. Child, I swear. She is Dr. and Professor, and has taught this course long. You do not know more than her. You aren’t even adding anything to the discussion. You are just indulging a fantasy that we want to listen to your badly worded pop culture references. We don’t. Maybe one, two per class, and you’d be okay. But we laughed once and now you’re unstoppable. If you speak? Modulate your voice from ‘mulelike bray’ to ‘indoors’. Never again interrupt the teacher. Give her the respect she is due and has earned in her treatment of the course, the class. Yes, she is soft-voiced. Do not take this as permission. Respect. Learn it. That goes for letting the other fucking students speak too. Yes, Milton can be a bit dull, especially the God portions, and yes, we’ve been treating them lightheartedly. Do not fucking abuse the discussion-based nature of the course. This is not highschool, and no one has to pander to your attention starved half-baked ideas.
/rantrantrant. TL;DR: Awesome weekend, shitacular Milton class
Also, German now has its own scent. That will forever be burned in my memory. Whenever I pass an open sewer, I’ll smile fondly and start conjugating sein, haben, heißen, and kommen.
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and then it all burned down
duplicity and importance. A call from home was possibly the best part of the day, closely followed by the tense breath of a storm.
Other than that, I have this pleasant urge to destroy something, a neat leaf-pile or any and all of the friendships I’ve made here, and smile cheerfully. I will be calm and cheerful and leave my room to socialize. Promise! I’ll even study.
But I can’t stop destructive urges. And they are often and unbearable. My dreams are covered in oaths and roads and journeys and highways, green fields and train tracks and this wonderful naivety, childlike innocence that isn’t real but I could drown in.
I want to sing, to you. And happiness. Don’t be so blue, so blue. This too shall pass.
(and all the best things are missing now)
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Explorations and mist
The rain, if it can be called such, is fine and coats everything in little drops.
Woke up for an audition.. and got lost. Found an open door, the secret path backstage to our main auditorium. And a spiral staircase down down. Into a cement tunnel. With no flashlight, a weak gray cellphone light, I delved. The dim illumination only worked when I pointed it down, or got close to a wall. Pointing it forward swallowed the little light. I made to down one corridor and one turn before I came across stairs and a flashing red light. Could have been anything, but the paranoia of breaking rules made me turn around and get out. No one caught me. Score! The door I used was locked when I came back- I think it was just ajar, and that’s how I made it in.
Everything will be okay. We’re okay. This fucked-up week is over, and the sickly feeling of fear has left. In its place is hope.
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