It's like trying ...
It's like trying to keep bumblebees on leeshes, the things going through my mind.So many places to turn for comfort, I try to make sure they are all my own - and not other people.So many projects, so many things I like to do, I can feel them rising up out of me again. And that's a good thing. I've been keeping the paper journal. It helps me keep continuity, it helps me look at my thoughts. It's one centralized location for a girl who feels both like she is disappearing and multiplying. But it's scary, there's so much fear that keeps me pacing the perimeter instead of going inside. I know exactly what I am capable of setting my mind to, so I don't kn

I Woke Up With This Song Already in My Head
And I realized it is much more than that.I've been journalling on paper a lot more lately. This is yet another wet and slippery and cracky kind of metamorphosis. Times, places, and faces have changed a lot in this past year. I hadn't begun to change until now..

Happy Birthday Mom!
Mom and I mean business. Okay.Quick assessment of the insanity I am about to face. I have both family and frien

Lunch Break Update
I've really wanted to go into some detail about my new job to satisfy and spread my delirious excitement among all the people who have been asking about it. Fittingly, however, this new job has kept me too busy to update this blog. At this particular moment I am taking a lunch break, or, at least, a feeble remnant of a lunch break I tried to take an hour and a half ago. One of the downsides of just having lunch at your desk is that no one knows you have done this, so you dualistically feel like a slacker while you still take calls and answer work emails that come in. I would go somewhere but I don't have any money yet. I usually try to perch my lunch prominently in front of

Je n'en connais pas la fin
There is a light at the end of the street partially obscured by garden growth, twisted lines layered over each other, diffusing into darkness.The yellow window quivers in my view as my knees stutter under me, somewhere deep in my bones there are rings growing, etched around my marrow, bark crackling out of the calcium and I become twitchy. Twitchy, as if flesh and blood have taken flight, have reeled back and retreated yellowbellied into the night, taking with them my softness, the give in my body, the rubberyelastic stretch of skin and blood cells break apart from their plasmic suspension, chickering off like startled geese. My rainstick throat takes a reluctant