Tiny little moments you'll recall exactly.
The taste of cinnamin on my lips on a Tuesday night.
The blurry cab ride home.
Jazz streaming from my laptop 24/7.
Tea and reheated tea and cookies.
The soft light through my pink curtains.
The feeling of my stuffed toy under my chin.
Watching the Hills with Megan.
Facebook conversations with Mississippi.
Sticky tack all over my wall.
Riding the Daquiri Train.
Hall bowling with empty bottles.
Leftover pizza in the fridge.
Many extension cords.
The freshest air freshener ever.
Episodes of tv online streaming.
The fall leaves hitting my front window.
Intellectual talks.
Shit talks.
Arse logic.
Seven drinks.
Relevations.
Goodness.
Happiness?
I think so!
 

First Posted Here

The eight flies flew dizzy circles in the dull white light of the office foyer. I'd watch them, my head on a slight tilt, a pen drawing lazy doodles on the office paper, the edges of the college ruled pad folding up, curling towards me, catching on my sleeves. The day was long and grueling and looking back now, merely hours afterwards, and I can't remember much of it. My day was dedicated to counting down to visiting camp, seeing Sean for the first time in a year.

Camp was the same yet different. Calm yet hectic. Nostalgic yet stifling. We couldn't figure out what to think as we sat alone at the beach, then munched onion rings and joked with 15 year old boys. We drove home and blasted Leeland and sang til we were hoarse, til a tiny bit of nomalcy filled the car. Now I'm sitting here with a towel on my head, with one earbud, some random music, a slightly deflated feeling. But it doesn't matter. Because aside from the bizarre feelings of being on another planet... I enjoyed sitting there fighting giggles in the second pew from last. I enjoyed having Sean squeezehug me til I couldn't breath. I enjoyed eating onion rings, remembering years past.

His hair cut is bad and I laughed. He wore a Missouri State sweater. I laughed as I realized it probably cost sixty dollars and it's maroon. Yes. Maroon. I stifled a laugh. Sam ran around and picked fights, punching him, teasing him. It's funny that she's the one doing that to him. I just laughed and sided with her. Sean said "what are you doing? You know she fights dirty!" I laughed and hugged her. I saw the kids with their nickel candies and mussed hair, dirty feet and bikes strewn on the scorched field. It felt funny not to be there to hang with them all week.

But as I stood on the pick-up-chicks swing with assorted youths, a Moody kid trying to guess our names, I laughed. Jonathan stood smack dab in the middle of the swing, a juice stain around his lips thus looking remarkably like the Joker, yelling loudly, "anybody wanna hear about my scaaaaariest nightmare??" "No," we said blandly and he told us to be quiet but we ran him over and tried to convince Moody that Sam's name was actually Agnes. As I saw him and his seven year old hyperness, now also chubbiness, just annoying the hell out of everyone, I was glad I had a bed in my house to sleep in. I was glad I wouldn't be eating old watermelon slices for breakfast whilst getting remarks for wearing my pyjamas to the dining hall.

The reading helps. The happy stories of a vet in the English countryside warms my heart and keeps my brain on the back burner. Reading my bible makes a difference in the way my brain works. Keeps the things I want to keep out, out. Keeps good things in. Locks them in. And that, in combination with all the other subtle changes, makes for this feeling of...wholeness. Of, maybe not quite there yet, but well on my way. And it's as if...as if... I'm not sure. But there are far more moments where I laugh til I have to pee, where I spend only a few hours at home, where I remember the feeling of the sun on my cheeks, where I accomplish what I want to. Those moments are now greatly outnumbering the moments where I feel the weakest, where I write the most blogs. And for that I am truly humbled and grateful. And joyful. Most of all joyful.

1. Grab your phone.

2. What kind is your phone?
Motorola

3. Who's the first person who comes up under the letter M?
Megan

4. Who's the last person you called?
Sam

6. Who was your last missed call from?
Megan

7. Who's the 2nd person who comes up under D?
Myself

8. Who's speed dial 2?
Megan

9. Who's the 3rd person who comes up under J?
Lea

10. Who was your last received call from?
Katrina

11. Who is speed dial 4?
Dan

12. What does your banner say?
gepie<3

13. How many text messages are currently in your inbox?
52

14. What do you have as your background?
Graffiti

15. Who's speed dial #1?
Voice Mail

16. What's the 5th message say in your inbox?
"O georgie, did u have your clothes on ?"

17. Who's the 1st person who comes up under B?
Becky

18. How many bars of signal do you currently have?
3

19. Who was your last text message from?
Megan

20. Name every person you have text messages from.
Megan, Shimmy, Beck, unknown random person, Dan

22. Who's the 9th person on your recent calls?
Dan

23. What does the 6th message in your in box say?
"What did u do? ;-) lol"

24. Who is the first name in your Phonebook?
Becky

25. Who is the last name in your phone book?
Spencer

26. Do you have a camera phone?
Yes

27. Who is the last person under G ?
Hammy

28. What does the last text message say in your in box?
"Too hot out"

29.Who did you send the most text messages to in your out box?
Megan

30. What is your ring tone?
The RAZR standard one

 

I saw fourteen children
In your lovely brown eyes
To be King and Queen
Was just a disguise
You were meant to be mine
You were meant to be mine

Sitting with you on the banks of the Ganges
Stealing a kiss on the streets of Bombay
Caressing your hair like the wind through the palm trees
I never dreamed that anyone could take you away

The floor was cold to my feet today. My limbs ache like I ran a marathon in my sleep. I probably dreamt of similar things, strange things, foreign things, I wake up knowing I left behind a world undiscovered. I can tell it's going to be a dark day. My skylight betrays the grey dullness of today's sky. Frost has settled over the backyard like a woollen blanket and I know it is going to be cold. Classes lull me near to sleep and my bones ache again this time for warmth. The ticking of the baseboard heaters and everyone's visible breath on the chilly breeze. Out my window I see a burnt orange car and the matches leaves strewn about like a newspaper in the wind. I smile because it matches the colour of my window sill. Nature is colour co-ordinated. 

I've settled into familar. I hang my tank tops from the sky light to dry, I've got cups and post-it note pads and a routine to my desk. I've got the clothes laying about on the ground and my laptop usually ends on my bed with me, tea, and a movie. That is my routine. I like it. It feels like home. Even if there are crappy windows and dirty wooden floors and sloping ceilings, this little cave is mine and I smile at it's pale blue hue and thumb tack holes. The walls have a collage of pictures and calendars, sheer fabric and lined-paper bubbles. It's an ecclectic mix of everything I love.

So my eye lids stay closed longer and longer when I blink. My arms move less and less and I've lost feeling to my toes. The song and traffic sounds placate me and I know soon I will be curled up and ready to drift into a land where I've forgotten everything, but this time it's not because of drink. I am actually longing for my quilt again, my pillows. It's funny how something so mechanical and subconscious as sleep can leave you wracked and near-useless. 

This isn't an emo blog or an annoying perky one either. The thoughts of depression, anxiety and futility aren't present and neither are the ones of blinding happiness and blithe glee. But it doesn't matter, I tell myself, because this is where you are best, right in the middle with a cup of tea and a movie on a blustery fall day.

The size of the raw spot in my throat must be the size of a small country. I can barely breath through my nose and the rain today gathered above my eyebrow before giving way to gravity and tracing down my cheeks. I couldn't believe I left without my umbrella this morning but counted my blessings, I wasn't carrying a metric tonne of groceries onto a bus this time. Just trudging through the sodden grass to Clearihue A Wing on a lousy Thursday morning. 

I've been eating copious amounts of junk food and feel like absolute shit. But somehow that doesn't inspire me to eat loads of greens and litres of water. Hmm. What an inverse relationship. Oh lord, my linguistics terminology is creeping out again. Soon linguistic relativity and the Whorfian Hypothesis and preferential looking tasks will be brought up in casual dinner talk. Save me.

Somehow I am bipolar about cleanliness. When I'm stressed (or hungover) I brush my teeth nine times a day, or I pluck my eyebrows to perfection. I clean my room til I have my underwear alphabetized, were it possible, and my pens all in line. But the very next day I'll be swimming in a pool of my own clothes and towels strewn across the bamboo mat. I'll have my blankets in a crumpled mess and my desk littered with dvds, hair clips, and technological paraphenalia.

I dreamt of a civil war. I dreamt of an attic, giant and cold. The space just swallowed us whole. We wore tattered clothes and fought for something invisible. We were the wronged ones but I've no idea why. Shouts of protest rose up in the rafters and everything was dark, dark brown. We fought til the building was bursting at the seams and suddenly we were outside. 

The green grass was heavy with dew and I noticed the way the crimson blood spilled over it like taffeta. The enemies were gaining on us and somehow I knew it wasn't going to end well. My family was gone somewhere, just me and my sister staying with the brave and determined. We were being circled in the open field. It was edged with trees, dripping under the heavy sky. It was close to the breakout of a storm. I could feel it in the air, heavy and damp. 

Suddenly the end was upon us. The rebels had captured us. My love had killed someone. In the fray of the activity I'm sure it wasn't the least of the casualties of the activities but my sister panicked. She cried out that we'd all be arrested and she got up and left, carrying the many sopping layers of her dress with her as she ran through the field. My love lay injured on the battle field. His face was crowned with the dewy grass. I started to cry for him. For some reason the rebels would punish him. Even in a war where things were not counted against you, I knew he'd be tried and convicted. I lay there, his unmoving body at my knees. He rested on the many layers of my stiffling dress. The cotton soaking up the water from the ground. I cried as he lay in my lap, the last few minutes of existence together quiet and cold. I loved him and my heart broke in two at that moment as he smiled up at me, never saying a word.

Why is there so much beauty and pain in my dreams?