Monday, May 4, 2009


My brain is like a full bathtub of kidneys on ice after a Sorority party gone bad.

Where to start? Well, I'm hot. Burnin' up. My concentration level is so beyond out the window, it forces you to think twice like when the server comes back to the table, and asks, another? Pausing, you think, I could have one more, or, it could go all to hell if you do.

My thoughts are like a car accident. I looked both ways. The car smashed into the side, I just closed my eyes. Scared. Walt came to mind, when he mentioned my car was made of Styrofoam......

He bravely said, you can trust God, and love God, and have that comfort, but that human touch is what will fill it. Man, to be in a realationship where you are still lonely? No thanks.

Untied. Untangled. Foul ball.

The "just for now's" came rollin in. Diane made me talk about it. Calling me out, she stated, you made the situation confusing, by saying one thing, then doing another. Careful, little girl.

If that aint the truth.

I don't mind it. Sure, it makes my belly ache and hurt to hear the truth. Sculley and Mulder made their opinions known also. The truth is out there. Point taken, Mr. Sex Addict.

Or my chest feels so tight that I may have an imagined asthma attack.

Attention, attention. New course to map out.

No more emotion. That's it. I wash my hands of it. I just will take my void of discontentment, and hold hands with it. Cut throat will lead to deep throat. And, I can just not feel good, or bad.

I will remain heartless even after the third cup of wine. I will be a relentless heart breaker. You will think about me, and think of ways to get me back, but I have already closed the door, so it will be impossible to open my mind up to you again. It will be like I'm blind folded. Just taking whatever I run into. You will sit and wonder "Does goodbye say it all?"

Aha. I reference The Piano once again. The part where Holly Hunter throws herself off the boat with the rope used to throw the thing (piano) overboard, is wrapped around her ankle, so she goes too. Floating to the bottom of the ocean. Opened eyes. Mute. Shoe drops, she wriggles out, onto the surface. They all rush to her, and dry her off to hold her. She just stares. It's some kind of surrender.

Oh vivid. I love you. I love you words, carelessly strung about. Like piano, makes my heart beat faster, then we come to the word ocean, and I just lose it. Vivid is a favorite word. It rolls off the tongue and sounds so exciting, as if you were being bounced off the trampoline.

Please, please, please, let's not discount surrender. Beautiful word. I take care of every letter as if it were the man of my dreams.

No radio today. I can't. I have too much noise to tend to.

Did you know, we say at least 150-200 words a minute? Our "self-talk" is supposedly, 1300 words a minute. I buy that. Threw my money on the counter and ran off. Smack.

I'm sure I think more than that.

"As a man thinks with his heart, so is he." Proverbs 23:7

So when I tear myself down all the way to my cuticles, I try to remember that. And that's the perception of me. Of what I project. I always wear my emotions forthright.

I guess the cold hearted plan won't work.
I don't think yours does either. It completely transparent. I'm sure you feel ashamed.
Don't be mad at me now, sport, this is something you claim to be. Real or imagined.

Back to being a rogue, the female equivalent to James Dean.

There I go, pulling your leg, with visions of David Coverdale, dancing in your head.

I really tried to tell you how I feel. Somehow it got scalped by the Indian crying by the side of the road. Darn the Indian. Creeping up the side of the house, blood curdling death yell.

I love how Tom Petty gives me the permission to breakdown, he says, it's 'all right'..... It's in a song, so it must hold some truth. Music is self expression....

Ah, you just wish I did drugs. I can entertain you sober. It's much more amazing, even though, I wish I had a little more clarity.

Mr. Wise, you had said over the weekend, reading some one's blog is like looking into their bedroom window. Welcome then. Notice how well I keep this room clean? Ignore the bed. I never make it up. Energy wasted.

We also found an amazing sleeping bag that I want. It's different shades of green, it's only lacking the polka dots for me to play the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. A, E, I, O, U.... A, E, I, O, U....

It's important to drink lots of peanut butter and banana milkshakes, go to church (even if you get there late), go to work, try new things, not get eaten by cats your trying to give subcutaneous fluids to, feed your soul, answer honestly, eat delicious food, start the laundry, wipe down the pollen that has made it into the house, ride in an elevator, pray, drink beer at Preservation Pub, know your limits, drop your guard, get a to-go box, miss your friends, eat lunch with your Daddy, take pictures, be a little less melancholy, understand there are no coincidences, enjoy time alone, ride around in the car, go to skateboard shops (check out the skateboard boys.) (I know, I know, I'm so a sucker for the skateboard boys), get free comics at the comic book store (it was free comic book day Saturday.), continue to compare myself to Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman, not get mugged in the Old City, discover the $10 dollar cover @ Barley's, instead hang @ Patrick Sullivan's, realize, hey, I'm tired, change my clothes, dry out my chucks from the rain, buy baby shampoooooo for the dogs, so they smell like lavender, snuggle down in the bed, wake up at 5, and be ok with it, fall in love with Matt Costa all over again, when his sweet music comes pouring out of the radio, maybe miss you for a moment, look at shoes and not buy them, feel as if the Pastor was speaking directly to you (Holy Spirit), cry through church, pray more, alot more, sit outside, daydream, have a nightmare, wake up tangled in the sheets on the floor, start the coffee (again).

And not doubt my life isn't as traumatic and busy as yours. I just want to describe it. :)

That sums up my weekend. (it's really not the half of it.) You?

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