i don't mind the sun sometimes

4:14pm: okay, so we could get $1M from this - which would get 66 families back home down here. if you have a facebook, please vote? i live here, i work here, and it's a cause near and dear to me.

thanks lovlies.

3:16pm: i don't like you, not one bit at all. and i don't know what i was thinking.










what a terrible waste of time.

3:26pm: this isn't scrabble you don't get points for doubles
sometimes i wonder what you're like now. and i wonder if i'd seem different to you, or if this is all just reruns, reformatting, same material, different presentation. do people change, or do they just come off differently?
i like to think this is new and strange and lovely but oh how easy it always is, to go back to the way it was. only now it's uncomfortable and feels silly. i'm not sure what i'm trying to say here. it would be easy to slip back but i don't think it would be right, not anymore.
also sometimes i wonder if you miss me or anyway the way we were. i don't know. a lot of it i was sicksadangry, stoned or drunk or all strung out, except for those days that stand out from the haze, the smoky swirl of people you were never interested in. all those nights, driving home so late, pitch black, street lights burning futilely, same dim points that never illuminate anything. the radio loud and my mind wandered. pressing the gas, always too fast for neighborhoods and curvy roads. remember how i always woke up at 2 am and had to run out the door, so late for curfew? or remember when i let you drive and you almost killed us, driving into that lake seven times? or when you almost killed me, dangling me off that balcony by my arms, over the cement broken and glittering with shards of glass. remember when you took care of me? when i had everything i needed and i didn't even know it. or you needed more. remember before either of us could drive and we walked, all over, through the drive thru to get pizza, and we found that couch, and carried it all the way to neil's and ate pizza on the couch on the front lawn? this collection of memories, glimpses into the past, and all these things, you're the one i remember best most days only i can hardly feel your hands anymore. and this is where it ends, because i didn't what to do with everything and everyone, the swirling sadness and spikes of madness, and i had to help myself and that took so long, longer than anyone can be expected to wait. and anyway i hope that you're happy and well and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

"why's she digging in the mud?"
"that's what hippies do."

11:46am: no one told me life was this beautiful.

i feel like the sun shines through me, like a prism, like tropical pinkpurple flowers opening in the steamy jungle mist. yoga yesterday and my whole body buzzed and vibrated with a feeling of contentment. probably this is how cats feel, laying around in the dusty afternoon. i feel calm and capable and very much alive and present. only, only it's not really calm. there's always this undercurrent of anxiety, a dark whispering of things i haven't done, things that may never get done, reminders of everything i'm letting go and all the things i used to be. but it's quieter than before and sometimes i can shake my head and not hear anything at all, just for a moment. is this what growing up is? it feels like brain damage. like i'm giving up something. if i don't have this jaded insecure glossy black misery, what the hell am i supposed to do? it was a coat of armor. picture those shiny bluegreenpurpleblack beetles. now i'm naked, completely stripped, this glowing beautiful being, and it feels so good and light and pure, but i haven't a clue where it came from or if it will last. enjoy it, ride it out, let it be, and i am, but i can't let go of the straggly threads, grasping at some deeper darker dirtier meaning behind it all. i always have to flip over the rocks. i want the mud and grit and ugly underneath. i want to know how it works, dammit. i have to take it apart and i can never get it quite back together. and everything i've ever done is like photographs from the 70s in my mind, the colors are off and the tones seem false.

who am i supposed to explain this to? this is bizarre. incredibly, strangely awesome. i look around and wonder if anyone else has any idea what's happening, if they can see the current beneath all this, strange static pull. do other people feel this way, ever? can this really happen?

i've never felt like this before. entirely myself.

do you know what i mean?

1:22pm: balloons explode or slowly wither
we picked and carved pumpkins. i've been baking and cooking and cleaning. it's finally cold - maybe in the 60s? and i'm wearing sweaters. cold weather makes me miss you and i say that every year. first day back to work in two weeks...i suppose it's okay. school starts this spring, am i smart enough? lemon juice and vodka, grapefruit, three-seed lemon bread, sitting by the water watching the boats, infinite jest, zombie alice in wonderland, late afternoon sun shadows, walking walking always wandering around. through the quarter, like a fairytale, windows full of glittering jewels and dusty old intricate antiques, stacks of books and people painted silver or gold posing on the street, musicians taking up residence sprawling their intruments about, neon green plastic cups and shiny skeleton beads cluttering the gutters, and always the constant crush of bodies and commotion, strolling through the streets, the young-old psychics with their crystal balls waiting to tell your fortune, scraggly smudged kids yelling for change and booze, and there's me, hood up and head down, notebook in hand, waiting for the perfect moment.

12:12pm: it's not that i'm not reading. it's that i cannot, under any circumstances, look at that picture and not feel ill. i had to do something.

making chili for dinner. everyone's obnoxious, noxious mainly. for fuck's sake, your coffeepot has been growing mold for a month. and i've already explained, three times, that you need to order long sleeve shirts. we talked about it two weeks ago. and no, it is not okay to demand the candle from my desk because you're not a fan of the febreeze spray.
etc. etc.
i suppose it's a matter of
remember
to
breathe

3:08pm: oh but also

—	David Foster Wallace

11:32am: new: art, bedsheets, movies, week, hair apparently, assistant, sensations and delights

same: house, boyfriend, car, clothes, wide-eyed wonder lost darling

i'd like to move to the northwest. it's been on my mind for some time now, meaning perhaps it isn't just a fantasy but something that i might do. arizona was - any more harsh bright serious sunlight and i think i'd fade through, clear to the bones. i have two whole weeks all to myself coming soon, and who knows what adventures will come of that.
i'm always on the fence about things. i am loathe to commitment to plans for an evening or a weekend, and yet need definites from everyone else. questions as to future plans result in we'll see or i'm not sure or probably. and i should change that but, i think it's important to retain an air of mystery?
i have ten thousand tiny projects i want to get through, but think that probably i should get the home in order first. i have always been a packrat, thinking of my whole existence as a collagescrapbookartproject, saving and tearing and pasting and coloring as i go through, and it always results in dust and cobwebs and piles of curling pages, old magazine and love letters, tea-stained tee shirts that don't fit anymore.
i still have the shirt i took from him - the jeans too, and he was so mad about that. they don't even look that great on me. but they mean something silly still, and the first time i fell in love feels like torn cotton and demin, smells like liquor and smoke and paint, tastes soft and prickly and cold. sounds like winter, the absolute silence of snow-suffocated landscape, the wind curling through the bare sketchy branches and the smoke puffing from the chimneys, or wrapped up in furs drinking wine by the water.
i feel like pink frosted cupcakes with multicolored sprinkles, like strawberry lemonade slushies, like tiny detailed drawings colored sienna, like mint tea and folk bands with girl singers and brand new crayons.

9:10am:

7:57am: Man, I was thinking about unrequited love. I figure it's best to just walk that shit off. Find someone else to be excited about. It's like if you love ice cream but your ice cream man friend won't give you any. Maybe he's got a good reason. It cuts into profits. Who knows? But he likes you as a friend and wants to hang out anyway. It just drives you crazy to hang out with that dude, even if he's being reasonable from his point of view. So don't hang out with him. What, you ONLY like ice cream? It's ice cream or nothing? Don't be an asshole. Learn to love donuts. -- Joey C.

5:08pm: tonight tonight
oh, tonight is the very first night in the new place.

...i should learn to behave.

8:59am: call it off.
I miss you now
I guess like I should have missed you then
My body moves like curtains waving in and out of wind
In and out of windows
I can't untangle what I feel and what would matter most
I can't close an eye, can't close an eyelid
Now there's no point in reaching out for me
In the dark, I'm just no good at giving relief
In the dark, it won't be easy to find relief
And I'm not proud that nothing will seem easy about me
But I promise this, I won't go my whole life telling you I don't need
I'll tell you now, I guess like I should have told you then
That thunder moves like damn drawers slamming in my frame
Slamming in my framework
I can't untangle what I know and what should matter most
I can't close an eye, can't close an eyelid
Now there's just no point in reaching out for you

4:06pm: ireland next week.

i doubt i'll want to return.

1:40pm: always a Detroit girl at heart.

anyone want a kitten?

3:07pm: who knew life was so ridiculous?
five newborn kittens, a rescued duck, dumpster diving adventures in uptown, possibly the best olive bread ever. everything is an adventure game!
everyone should know
how magnificent it is
to exist and be aware of it.

maybe too much coffee, but crackling trembling electricity possibility is in the air today, i swear.

3:43pm: Overqualified.
To: Citibank
Re: The ground floor

Dear Citibank,

I am writing to apply for a job with your company, and I should say ahead of time that I am using you to tease my mother. I don't have any interest in whatever it is you people do. Every time I see her, she starts in on me again. Why don't you have a career yet? What are you doing with your life?

But Citibank, you know what the best day of my life was? The day I realized that I could work a shitty part time job to cover my rent and my food, and the rest of my time could be my own.

So, I apologize for using your current economic woes to tease my mother, and her idea of my banker cousin as a model I should aspire to. I know you guys are probably freaking out. You need to just relax. Think about what I said. I have a pretty nice life.

Joey Comeau









i'm just saying, kids. the man has a point.

10:48am: kitten is always dropping things as a way to make a map.

9:14am: OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA

we live in a beautiful world, yeah we do.

11:42am: i am on the edge of my seat, trembling with coffee and possibility.

i keep forgetting about all the magic and loveliness that exists around me. but no more! i am determined to lose myself in it all. or maybe i am trying to find myself buried beneath it? i am sad and wild and breathless, my heart and lungs feel like they're opening up under the sun. i belong to nothing and no one.

10:41am: i'm in the middle anyway.

i'm leaving in eleven days. i have nothing packed, sorted, or contained - why do i have so much trouble with this? it's as if even though i am counting the days, it's nearly impossible to detach myself. i feel like conflicted velcro...
but it's time. leaving behind the high, clear light that seems to permeate everything lately for the harsh, shredding tropical glare that forces me to consume more water than i ever thought possible. to trade in some sad, sullen kids and some dazed, dialated eyes for something bigger and better than any one person.
maybe this will all work out. i'll love the work and the city and people and we'll be perfect together.
or i'll take off again in a year, disappear into the country and reemerge in a decade, dazed and full of ideas.
after all, i seem to wake up in long term relationships.

7:21pm:

i'm moving to new orleans in a month or so. working and loving and laughing and wandering. i've been checking states off my list of Places To Be and adding cities to Places To Live. i am terrified - it feels like the most precarious edge that i am balancing upon. we're putting on makeup, ready to go to the bar in Boulder, CO tonight. listening to less than jake. i am happy and sad all at once and wondering how that can be. and i'm worried about you, babydoll.

9:52am: i miss the way you taste.
but now my ashtray's overflowing and i'm starin' at a clean white page
oh and morning's at my window she is sending me to bed again.

it's been a year.
it feels like a decade.
and we are no different.
or maybe
just me.

7:27pm: i mean, i could be upset, or i can admit that i am not surprised, and if it had been a different night, different roommate, different room, i never would have known.
and anyway, every moment is a thousand things waiting to happen.
and i
am pleased
with the way things (will) work out.
mostly.
and weekends mean more bonfires and gypsypunkrock shows and wandering the city and long intense discussions about books and music and who we might be.
but wednesday is the longest day
of. the. week.

12:48pm: art is hard.

and we don't know who we are...
and you can't have happiness without freedom...
and you gotta find a place to level out...
because your friends and your pills try but only make it worse.
it's summertiiiiime but the livin' is not so easy
at camp hope with a million volunteers, building houses with the st. bernard project
sweaty and bruised and exhausted
but there is hope in the form of
this kid that looks a lot like you and the haunted building out front and new orleans itself only 20 miles away.
and of course coyote who lives in a teepee and is a crazy stripper burnout
famous for saying "we're all just human beings man"
and hands out beaded necklaces meaning water air fire earth LIFE
california got in my blood, i think.

1:07pm: classical.
i want to go to this school. i want to learn ancient greek and french and have discussions that last into the early morning hours. i want to find the answers to what is virtue and truth and i want to learn physics and fall in love staring at the stars. i want to go to the kind of parties where we drunkenly debate plato.