the prospect of november turning into december terrifies me.
why must time always be so damn linear?
i am completely falling apart.
the best part of this whole weekend was walking home from a hungover breakfastlunch date and watching heather mentally wrestle rob to the ground while shouting the merits of eco-feminism! there is nothing i like less than having feminism used against me by crazy boys who think that they know everything – go patriarchy?! i think not.
or maybe it was art/dance party?
or maybe it was not once even trying to write a paper about chaucer!
or maybe it was buying and listening to and letting the new …and you will know us by the trail of dead grow on me until i am craaazy about it!
best weekend of november, or maybe even all the fall months put together.
oh, the results of christmas and christmas-esque activities are a little bit of loneliness and a little bit of nostaglia.
today was a really good and long day in the city and i appreciated it, promise.
but i long for holding hands in mittens and sipping warm tea from warm mugs and reading newspapers and walks in the park (ducks!?) and surprises and things wrapped up in ribbons.
there is some wonderful boy-creature out there and he is not here! how dissapointing it is when the weather is so cool and crisp and the days seem long and blendy and there is no one to share all of this wonderfulness with.
so, okay, if you are out there…hey! over here! i am pretty okay and i need someone to knit scarves for and complain to and laugh with, like, all of the time.
the truth is that i miss having a really good someone to fall asleep next to.
order left her quite ornery. as a child she would rip the pages from books, starting from the center and working her way out. christian bedtime stories. books were never just books but empty shells, like little girls. everyone was fast asleep when she set fire to the house and never, not once, looked back.
an open letter to all men, drunken or otherwise, who think it is okay to accost me when i am walking alone late at night.
while i appreciate your concern for how i’m doing i think you must have me confused as i am not, in fact, your baby. also, just to clear up any further misunderstanding it is most definitely not the fact that i am a fucking bitch that keeps me from responding to you but rather this thing that rests between my ears (not to be confused with that thing that rests between my legs).
fuck you.
there are a lot of things about growing up that i don’t understand. but at least there are some i’m starting to.
like how sometimes figuring out who you are means figuring out who you aren’t.
i will never be a person who remembers to drink the milk in the fridge before it goes sour. and i will never, ever, be able to eat a meal without picking it apart with my fingers. i happen to like digging around in my food. i will always spill things on myself and walk like a duck. i will never have small ears. i will never be a tiny girl who can wear ballet shoes and abstract tee shirts and have a cute haircut – that is a big one. sometimes i think i’ve pretty much been punishing myself for the last five years for not being that girl.
it has become boring and obvious to hate myself for all the wrong reasons.
so i’m thinking about going to costa rica.
my bedroom is starting to look like what i imagine the insides of my mind might.
stacks of books, read and unread. scraps of paper and old newspapers. half-empty mugs with day-old tea. out of tune guitar. a burgeoning collection of things that have been loved by other people.
it’s snowing outside and everything is very gentle. i have high hopes for you, winter, please don’t let me down.
