018. Hallelujah Junction.


Moments and Memories of the day.

Moment: Listening to the CD my lovely, most amazing 1/4 of my lesbian bought me, as incense burns and I simply sit back and close my eyes. The music really is GREAT, doll. I’m astonished and in love. Three guess what I’m going to fall asleep to.

Memory: Crying hysterically, as my thoughts divided themselves neatly into “vague, random thing I am noticing and pondering as I break down” and “painpainwhyNOnono gasp, shudder, whynotsupposedtoguiltpainconfusion”. And the cousin that held me as I couldn’t stop the tears. And the love infused with every hug, every touch. It still hasn’t gotten old, as much as I will pretend.

Moment: Reading through the archives of a comic strip that is alternatively profound and hilarious. I want to write more now than I have in a long while. I want to laugh and let little moments make themselves be infinite. I want to live as though nothing matters and enjoy the ride for the same reason.

Memory: The vote for Galileo. I’m horrible, because I peeked at the closed-eye vote both times. When the first vote, the vote not to do it, went up, nearly all hands were raised in favor of waiting until festival. Then, Alexis told everyone I wasn’t going to be here for festival. The vote was redone. One hand went up, every other girl’s hand firmly by their sides. I had to swallow hysterical laughter. I was moved beyond words.

Moment: Dog food in the front of the cart, counter-balancing any weight I would put on it. I rode the shopping cart in a mostly-straight line to our car. The best bit about getting older is realizing you can still act like a “child”. I will have a ballpit in my room when I move out.

Memory: Shivering as I sat on the wooden floor, panting with heat and wishing I had worn something other than jeans, raising my voice and adding to the song, watching the candles flicker and the bodies move when I sang no more.

Moment: Having an insult war in my honesty box on facebook. After weeks of no real messages, “bitch” and “lint licker” were refreshing. I still don’t know who my insult-er is.

Memory: Hearing one of Rhonda’s troop frame my words into song, a refrain that caught like fire throughout all the voices, echoing and magnifying the pain and joy that the memory induced. Slackjawed, I sat there, wishing I could share the moment and wanting to hold it tight to myself.

Moment: Conversing ‘face-to-face’ through a computer screen, loving every moment. Sitting at my hijacked computer and watching conversation flow effortlessly, using the speakers/microphone to talk as words typed themselves on my screen.


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