Aaaaaand then this afternoon i find myself editing the "peanut" article on Wikipedia. What is happening to me?! Have i already become a crazy old lady, lonesome and desperate and reaching for any tiny connection to this (legume-filled, among other attributes) world?
i didn't even actually edit it– i posted my qualms under the "talk" section. shows how much of a go-getter i am. i mean, if you're gonna be crazy, you may as well go nuts*, am i right? (like the time my boyfriend and i were up too late on the internet and edited a different Wikipedia article's sentence to include the word "sharted". It was removed less than 48 hours later. Sadface.)
With any luck, this can all be ascribed to the simple fact that i am not feeling well. More than just a bit run down these past few days. Pretending to not have a cold! Is fun! Yet wearisome!
Now, to pour boiling water over some shredded ginger and drink it down intently as if it were a magic potion.
Works every time.
*soooo sorry.
Thursday, September 26
Wednesday, September 25
Deeeeeeep thoughts...
tiredness and/or loneliness is perfectly summed up when your floss rips to shreds as you are tearing it off and you say to it, "you know what? you're a flaming asshole." and then laugh about the whole thing.
Monday, September 16
Eventually, we agreed on nothing
Another random poem brought to you by a hangover! My brain works haltingly on these days, which lends itself somehow to word jumbling. They tumble around in my head like socks in a dryer... these are the ones left behind.
__
We wear our nostalgia like a perfume
forever in search of one lingering moment
(or another)
a lullaby that we glimpse in our mind
always teasing, too quick to be caught–
we never know when it will return.
but it does
it always does,
wearing thin our hearts
in that same aching place
the membrane morphs and thins
things will never be different
(or the same)
in this tapestry of memory
we wait, endlessly weaving
__
We wear our nostalgia like a perfume
forever in search of one lingering moment
(or another)
a lullaby that we glimpse in our mind
always teasing, too quick to be caught–
we never know when it will return.
but it does
it always does,
wearing thin our hearts
in that same aching place
the membrane morphs and thins
things will never be different
(or the same)
in this tapestry of memory
we wait, endlessly weaving
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