annex

the birds aren't chirping because of me. that's what I was getting at last night, I guess. Jimi Hendrix could ride up on a candy purple motorcycle and offer to tell me everything I need to care about, Universe-wise. And it wouldn't work. I'm not open.

Until I see it really clearly in my head, it can't happen anyway. Is what I mean.

I make the fucking birds chirp.

Last night I dreamed of this guy. I'd lost my backpack eating Thai food and he took me to look for it. Then my homegirl showed up and we were supposed to have someone take our picture and he hugged us both. He was like a big bear, it was the best hug. I kissed my friend on her forehead and the flash snapped.

That was my favorite millisecond of the last week.

Now I have to go to work and make a site. Love.

xo.

Miss Understood

And it's not like I have hella time for that stuff, anyway. And it's not like I'm even ready for it. I'm reminded of this every time I think of the logistics involved in making my life work alongside someone else's.



There are a lot of details involved. There are a lot of moving parts.



And lately there is absolutely just about nothing left over. Nothing. The last 2 weeks at work have been intense, and things won't let up before next Monday. I will work this weekend. I won't sleep much until then. I don't mind, but it's not like I have time to go on dates.



The other night was the last Tuesday night party for a while. Made me melancholy and tired and sad. I was so spent by 2 AM that I missed the most important goodbyes. I said them in my sleep. I do everything that way, lately.

Addressing the Court

Exhibit A has to do with how I look tired all of the time. No matter when or at which angle you find me. I am pretty sure I was born with dark semi-circles under my eyes and I have photographic evidence of them being ever-present from about 3 years old.

I don't know what this says about my spirit, or my previous lives.

I only know that it caused the lady at the donut shop down the block to worry overmuch about my love life. In her mind I should have just been drinking lots of pineapple juice, getting married to a nice man who would treat me like a flower and commencing a life of not tripping very hard.

I thought her advice was so kind that I didn't have the heart to tell her that I've been looking exhausted for as long as I can remember.

Or that she was forcing me to consider whether she was just seeing the me I have always been or seeing something new I'd decided to identify with, cause it's not like I've stopped collecting ideas about how to be yet. It's not like I'm not still a work in progress.

Exhibit B is purely the feelings caused by the fact that I spent a very long time telling myself that I would be just fine one day. I'd be perfectly happy as soon as I had enough money. As soon as I had a fancier job where I could work on being a superstar.

What I mean is that Exhibit B is my current state of ennui. Or disappointment. Disenchantment? Everything that comes up when I realize that I got all of those things I thought would make it alright. I got all of them. And I'm still not hearing birds chirp when I get up in the morning. I still come home every night and think for a second

What do I do?

before falling into some routine. Something comfortable and geared toward keeping me afloat and In The Game.

I need my rest. I need time to veg out. I need something good to eat. I need exercise. I need sleep.

Those things.

By the time I start wondering what to do again I'm falling asleep, which has lots to do with why my dreams are all love-related lately. How I can't shake dreaming about the dreamiest boys I know and the dreamiest boys I have yet to meet.

And then I wake up in the morning and it's the same old thing which isn't horrible but doesn't leave much room for intrigue, or passion, or head to toe tingles.

It's just 1 million text messages and conversations with representatives. And picking out jazzy outfits.

I'm not saying any of this is bad just.

Sometimes I want a little more, is all.

A Little Extra

I have SO much to tell you. So much. But I'm so very tired from working, also just a little bit feeling not quite like myself. I can't explain it. I won't try to. I have pictures.



Love this sign.



Love this mural.



Love these gold coins I found in the cash box at work last night.



Love fishnets (duh). Also love my new stamp - makes it kitten time all the time.



Love these shoes. But I can barely stand in them. All night long I am Blanche DuBois, depending on the kindness of strangers. I wore them Halloween night for work, I was a devil.



I also wore these wee mask earrings. Other than the earrings and the shoes and a pair of glittery horns you could barely see through all of my hair, I was just normal old me. Taking money, stamping hands, etc. Plus leaning on everything in sight, and hoping I could find someone to walk me to my car at the end of the night cause I couldn't cross the street without wobbling on those ridiculous heels.

I need a houseboy with strong back to carry me from place to place when I feel like Blanche DuBois.

Which means I should get to sleep soon cause you can't afford a good houseboy on a slacker's salary.

So gnight.