I feel damn good today, maybe better than in months. All the better because no good thing has happened to me, for me, or about me. The good news, doesn't have my name in it. Nothing bad, nothing outrageous, nothing too awful. Hell, I even had a serious case of the freaking weird evil dreams, and I still had a good day.Tomorrow, I will also have a good day, and that is a strange thought, infrequent and welcome.
About a thousand beautiful and terrible things have sped through my mind tonight, and I've already missed the chance to write them down, now gone to the whims of whatever muse slipped past my guard, into my garden, plucked at the fruits of my creative genius, and sped back into the night, laughing and smiling. Gone are the lovers notes I'd have left for her, had I the presence to pen them to paper, as solid as the world under my toes. Gone are the regrets of the moment, lost to the editing of the day, the perfecting of memory. Gone even the whispers, for I never spoke these things aloud, never even to myself. But a present she left, and that is the visit and the wind of her passage, and the hope she will come again, at a more convenient place, when the keys are at hand, or a scrap of notebook within reach.
When?
Random bits about me: I miss being in love and knowing what to do with it. I like getting bruises from friends, and my lip is split for proof. I cause more current than I am aware of, and less currents affect me than should. I'm not wearing a shirt. I sleep with two pillows, one for my head, one to curl around. I'm a slow artist. I'm tired.
About a thousand beautiful and terrible things have sped through my mind tonight, and I've already missed the chance to write them down, now gone to the whims of whatever muse slipped past my guard, into my garden, plucked at the fruits of my creative genius, and sped back into the night, laughing and smiling. Gone are the lovers notes I'd have left for her, had I the presence to pen them to paper, as solid as the world under my toes. Gone are the regrets of the moment, lost to the editing of the day, the perfecting of memory. Gone even the whispers, for I never spoke these things aloud, never even to myself. But a present she left, and that is the visit and the wind of her passage, and the hope she will come again, at a more convenient place, when the keys are at hand, or a scrap of notebook within reach.
When?
Random bits about me: I miss being in love and knowing what to do with it. I like getting bruises from friends, and my lip is split for proof. I cause more current than I am aware of, and less currents affect me than should. I'm not wearing a shirt. I sleep with two pillows, one for my head, one to curl around. I'm a slow artist. I'm tired.
yes. I like that very much.
I have a bear I sleep with, Robert, the french pronunciation of course. I found him spooning me in my spinster bed the other morning. It was endearing and pathetic.
*looks up*
I find it mildly reassuring when I see: YOU ARE: 730A_trixel_fem. Why do I not see this every day? I'm sure there are points during the day when seeing: YOU ARE: Lauri-Ann would be very helpful. And affirming. People don't say my name enough. I like to hear people call out my name with need or desire.
'I miss being in love and knowing what to do with it'
oh yes, I know what you mean... I'm beginning to feel like I've forgotten everything about it. There's a song by American Music Club that opens:
'I've been cut off for so long from anyone, from anyone
I'm like an ant on your mat
You can't see me going down the drain'
I always identified with that. For more wise words by Eitzel, see today's jrnl.
Chin up, lad! as they used to say in the North of England.
PS - who is she?