arts and crafts

I need to stop crafting in bed, especially before bed.

especially with feathers and fur and messy stuff.

Chairs

I am right now, sitting in a chair that I like a lot. It is enormous, and was at one point, white. I am sure of it. But it's been good and sat in, so it's not quite white anymore. But I like this chair a lot. It's warm, and comfortable. And it's in a room where I can listen to Bright Eyes and not feel like I am bothering anyone.

Not everyone likes Bright Eyes, you know.

But I do. Bright Eyes reminds me of Mariko. I miss Mariko. Mariko was the only thing about high school that made me sane.

Ugh.

So yesterday, I am at the Mexican place, getting my nachos, listening to my headphones, and a song comes on. and I lost my appetite entirely. I felt like puking. It was utterly and entirely ridiculous. How a song can have this effect on me, I am not entirely sure. But I really didn't want those nachos anymore. But I was fucked, because I had already paid for them. It was bad news bears. But I just kept listening to this song, and getting sicker and sicker and sicker. I mean, I know why I was sick. My stomach was ablaze with jealousy, and anger.

Songs are powerful things, you know.

I have a feeling that A and B have the same reasons for wanting to remain stagnant.

MmmmBenKweller.

In any case: There is a chair in John's garage that I am totally in love with. I have thought about it pretty much non-stop-ish since I saw it.

It is a beautiful chair.

I'm hungry.

BEASTS!

Whew!

I don't care about the reasons why this shouldn't be.

The reasons it should are bigger and better, and going to beat those other reasons up.

Baby

I like it. I want to be called it.

All the time. I like hearing it in songs, I like writing it in songs. I think it is sweet.

"you say, baby, I only want to make you happy."

See? It's more charming than a prince.

I should have gone to bed hours ago. But I am in not a bed mood. I need to wake up a little earlier than usual to go to the post office.

That is the first time in my life that I have ever had to type post office.

I accidentally really want to watch Romeo + Juliet... eek.

Alright Baby, this is what's up:

I had the most phenomenal night last night. Everything about it had somehow escaped from a movie screen. It was so good that it made up for the disgustxorz thing that happened to me on the train.

It was so good good.

"And if most people fade to gray and black, you'll fade to light blue"

That's how I feel right now. I am determined to sing those words.

<3twl

I'll tell you what it is...

What is it, when your heart feels like its going to beat out of your chest, and your stomach is light and fluttery? That feeling when just an image or series of images, even, are all it takes to make this feeling occur? When the muscles in your arms and legs get weak, and you cannot keep from smiling?

...

You were there.

You've always (truly always, since the day I first saw you,) been interesting, and intriguing to me.

You are brilliant! I'm sure you know you are. But you are. Really.

Even when you didn't need to, you have always showed me such kindness. In the winter, when I didn't have a scarf and I was cold, you provided me with one, that I still have, and of course waiting around for me to pick up my phone.

Your sense of humor. You are so witty, and charming.

You are really very handsome. Dashing, is the word I use most often.

You're unusual. You make me see other perspectives, and you make me want to do things in new ways. You inspire me.

I really like the dynamic we have in the time we spend together. You make me laugh, you make me think, you make me do those things simultaneously.

...

It's love.

...

"I believe in love, no matter how fleeting or tragic. I am 18 and all I want to do is surrender."

Lifetime movies are movies, too... For the most part.

stomp clap

stomp clap clap
stomp clap clap clap
stomp clap
stomp clap

That image is burned into my brain. Wonderful.

I am totally heart over brain smitten.

<3

MACBOOK

Alright guys, this is no time for joking. I got a fucking Macbook. My laptop exploded in a fit of stupidity and not-working, and I told my mom and she said, "Do you want a MacBook?" and I said, "Uh. Yes."

The money came out of my college fund, but this is the most ballin' computer, and the best part is, that I am the one who was responsible for buying it, so I know all the details. It is brand new, not some chump refurbished break-a-thon computer. I am completely smitten with this machine. It is totally what I have needed my whole life. It is what was missing. I thought I needed love, hah, I needed a MacBook. I am still in the figuring it out stage, but this works for me. We will slowly find things out about each other and fall deeper and deeper in love.

The only issue is that all of my music is with God now, so I will have to work at getting it back together. No stress. I have so much more room on my computer, now.

My hair looks and feels so much better.

I am excited!

Good things are afoot!

What happened:

I felt really pretty, and confident, and I wanted to get on the train, and have some really good looking boy just fall in love with me. Really, I didn't want him to fall in love with me, but you know, to just be stricken.. But when I tried to picture him, what I'd want him to look like, he was you.

So. That was strange.

The Word.

Machination
Tangle
Indeterminate
Alphabet
Toast
Ink
Conjugation
Foliage
Verdant
Celestial
Avuncular
Listless
Betwixt
Underneath
Oft
Aft
Peripheral

Those are words I like, because I like the way they sound, or what they mean. My mouth likes those words.

I really wanted to say "Count up," "Walk it down," "Pick it up," "Watch the set," among various other crew related phrases, today. I wanted to be on the water. I miss the sounds of the creaky old Minnesota, shit, I even miss the Burnham's Plan. Those boats were so killer. What lovely boats, indeed. I miss the smell of the river. I miss carrying around wrenches.

Whatever.

I got my FOOL tattoo. I really like it. They guy who did it did a really great job. I am really excited.

Only one more week-ish.

I really like a lot of bands I had forgotten I liked.

I am going to buy some fishnets.

I need another job.

yes.

I may be a begger and you may be the queen.

She remembers the last time she saw you, before you left, and the kisses you both kept stealing from each other's mouths. She is content in thinking you really did go inside as she pedaled away, and that you did not step back outside after she believed you gone, to watch her go, instead.

Riding, she thinks about wanting to have met you under more magical circumstances. Wanting to have met you with dirt and grit under her nails, partaking in creativity of her own accord, not turning out assignments based on prompts. (Although, it is a truth the understands, that she works better this way; having a direction, and directives, and a deadline makes her work.) She is terrible at giving herself time to make things. The only things she has made recently, albeit really pretty, were the disc jackets to mix CD's for the various boys that thrust themselves into her life. She would never do this for you. It would make her feel juvenile, and she's already so young.

She pictures it, though, this chance encounter that has never occurred, and will not ever occur. You are in the White Hen Pantry, at 2 AM, and you are buying ice cream. She knows you would be talking to the clerk, whose name she would not at the time know, and would later not remember. She has been in her room, her corner, painting by the wrong numbers with the paints, and with her fingers. She got the sudden and uncontrollable desire for a Snicker's Ice Cream Bar, a feeling that often overtakes her but that she rarely acts upon. This is different, though. She is wearing the raggedy torn up jeans that her old friends wrote on, and orange converse. Her shirt doesn't matter, she didn't have a lot of special shirts, at the time. She would have been chronologically younger, but in her head, for the sake of this meeting, only you are younger, and she is the same age, although it is years and years and years ago. She takes her CD player, with some music that will undoubtedly find itself too loud to go from the headphones to her ears without escaping into the cool night. Her fingertips are caked in earth tone acrylic paints. She walks in the door, and smiles politely, because she has not seen you before, and does not know you yet. She gets her Snicker's Ice Cream Bar, and goes toward the counter. You are laughing and talking to the clerk. Her wild red hair and the paint on her fingers and hands, and some so far up as her bare shoulder would intrigue you, because in the world where she pretends to know you, she thinks you are drawn to people who exude creativity. Right know it is coming out of her ears, and when she opens her mouth to partake in pleasantries, it dribbles uncontrollably from the sides of her mouth. She takes no notice, only you would see things like that. You make a comment about her fingers, and she laughs, embarrassed, and explains, "I was painting by numbers." You look disappointed. She continues, "I paint by the wrong numbers, with my fingers." You find this excusable, and you ask how that might work, and she will gladly explain it. You begin walking home, and she won't speak up that she lives in a different, because she will like the way you speak, and smile. So she follows you the half block to your front door, and you begin to go inside. She stands and says goodbye, and names are not exchanged, or numbers, or anything that would make this encounter extend into other days and nights.

I accidentally interrupted the flow, so now back to your regular blog programming.

I am feeling oddly somber. I went to bed early, and so woke up early. When I woke up I read the second chapter from the e-mail app in my phone. It's beautiful. I will tell him this later.

I hadn't caught the sunrise from this end in a very long time, and maybe in a little while, I will collect quarters and try to go to savor and finish the rest of what I am reading, without the normal distractions.

I am done.