hard day's night

i have been doing some thinking lately -- and i have decided. i would rather have sex with ewan mcgregor Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith ((episode III)) than ewan mcgregor Moulin Rouge. to boot, i would rather have sex with ewan mcgregor Star Wars episode III verses episode II. lots of sexy thinking -- but these are matter of facts here.. andy also agreed with me. which brings me to my next point -- andy is growing a full beard. and i like it mucho. and i still have no job. and i still hate that part of my life. and i just had to pay $70 for damn natural gas. hate it.

andrew's place

the second time seeing Revenge of the Sith - and even though jonny didn't really care for it, i totally loved it. the second time i wasn't any less sad. and now, i am close to going to bed. i think i hear my new blue, jersey knit sheets beckoning me forth. these past few days have been lame. no job. no job sucks. but padmae does not. i love her. probably, but not for certain - i would turn bad for her also. but probably not.

moderate idle

brittle feelings with a weak-bullseye heart - with chilly toes and eyes that see spiderwebs between traffic lights.. god bless the observant, for we feel so much more.

the lamp

the moon smiles at me through our bathroom window - past plaid curtains and right to my heart.

except i'm the mom

the whir of my fan doesnt change.
there are a few constants

bluegrass rules

my eyes are dripping with fatigue - and all day i had to wipe a hard days work from my forehead. trekking my belongings up and up and up new, green stairs ((not really new, but new to me)).. things are new. new bookshelf, new bed, new closet, new not going to school, new diploma displayed in our new kitchen - i don't know about new. makes me sad and happy and goosebumply and i want to vomit nervous. i can hear the train like he's my best friend here at 421 Tipton. i like it - reminds of 10 year old nights with sun burned noses. cold skin sorta' under covers listening to the horn pierce the sleepy air... 10 years ago and also, brand new tonight. maybe new isn't bad or maybe just trains aren't so bad. depot city

my big truck book

i find lately that when i have a pencil, i don't write. i doodle. things like flowers and things like hearts. i regress back to the sixth grade - those one days when i didn't have to worry about sallie mae or bad skin. i guess i'm just a foggy mess of a forest right now... blah.

sent 124.90

i'm in rare form today.
pink skirt and a belly full of salmon - i might feel like a mermaid - i might feel like a summer time slut. i might feel invincible, the slight-smile-bursting-soul kind of feeling - no shoes kinda' day, a chicago day - but i'm driving there as fast as i can day -- a no holds cage fight of a feeling maybe armed with brass knuckles, or maybe just my heart.
part of me is everywhere today.
i want a banjo heart - maybe and banjo feet with a slight breeze in my hair.

options true

chicago bound in less than 24 hours - nothing better than a great boyfriend.

dim lights

i get rosey goosebumps on nights like this. when the grass is slightly damp and it cools down my body along with the slight breeze that carries thick nectar sweet - it tumbles down my body. soothing me with rhythms of spring.
i forget about selfishness on nights like this.
but then, i remember.

manually understanding

the sky is slightly hazy - like the steam off a lake in the morning.
graduation is drawing near - uncertainty looms in the cracks, not to mention a painful heart.
i like neil diamond - reminds me of endless country road summers, when in a few weeks its back to school. not now.
my hair seems flippy today - i don't like flippy. i like placid, calm - esp. today. maybe later.

always seems like later.
time wears away the edges - time folds into space.

place mats to the future

somehow tonight the breeze reminds me of porch swings.
there isn't an eerie squeak of rusted chains rubbing on rusted hooks - even though i like that.
the wind isn't strong enough to tossle my hair back and forth and back and forth again - but i like that, too.
maybe the temperature is somehow resonating a nostalgic tone within my little body - my nostrils are rimmed with cold and i gulp down spring air -
and my lungs remind me about that one time i ran so hard with barefeet in my dad's back yard...
((hide and seek, they all lump together))
i never wore shoes when the time was right -- and once spring time rippened my feet were filthy. but that was the back yard, centuries from the porch swing that hung next to a dogwood.
that now is back to ashes and molecules floating invisibly around my existence. it seems so long ago when unobtrusive cars passed while i watched - and wondered.
it seems i always watch and wonder... with dirty feet and a hopeful heart.

sweet air tonight - go on and remind me.

convince me this is the best, please

what is it with this thing we think of as love?
one of these days, the real deal will show up with a thermos full of coffee and tired eyes and, on our front porch before there is light in the sleeping world, beg us to stop putting him through torture.
nightshift is a bear, he'll say. please show me sunshine.