Through the rough and rigid cracks, shine light.

Oct 21

It’s Friday night, they say everything’s going to be A L R I G H T.

But it’s never quite right until S U N L I G H T.

Ironic, to seek light [fresh, new light] with such vigor. And yet, F A T E has shaped me into such an insomniac, spending the bulk of my waking hours staring straight into the face of darkness.

I hope my daughters never have trouble sleeping.

When all else fails, drink seasonal beverages and eat Ghiradelli brownies?

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Just another freak in the freak kingdom

Apr 25

A bounding pulse races through wires only to be temporarily halted at various points throughout the day. It is subject to sudden stops and starts, perhaps making it vulnerable but also always prepared to move.

Surprising amounts of time have passed since I’ve had the urge to cut my blonde locks or embellish this skin with more colour. I thought I’d beaten that part of myself, beaten it out like a Mexican rug on a hot summer day. But that element of self reinvention always reemerges. Perhaps it is this nuance which keeps this bird’s heart beating. Like a hummingbird, I spend so much energy flying that I must nurture body and mind constantly. And also like a hummingbird, so comfortable flying and racing about, I now find there mere task of walking absolutely painful.

Does society hold a special place for dreamers? Not the kind that live stagnant with their heads in the atmosphere (though surely it must be hard to breathe up there too). Rather, the dreamers who live fast paced, productive lives. The dreamers who follow direction, like loyal cattle…quiet and prolific, yet always keeping one eye out for the next great escape. We are the seekers.

Extraordinary thoughts and words flutter from the brains of a select few. These select few, if only I could gather them up, place them in my pocket, and pull them out in time for tea. But alas, tea time is different in all parts of this great, great world.

Marilyn knows what I mean.

And all I really want is to see real french ballet…

And drink real champagne…

And perhaps intimidate the masses.

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Let me paint you a picture.

Apr 19

It’s a Monday night, and I’m spending it with the White Stripes. Speaking of stripes, blue striped pajama pants cover cold legs curled upwards against bony ribs. Baskets of fresh laundry litter my closet–if one could call it a closet. Funny, I actually don’t have a closet. I have a clothing room. Does that make any sense? Well it happened like this: I had an empty room attached to my office. I also had many clothes. And too many shoes to count. So I gave them all their very own room. The most perfect two rooms of the house really, a brilliant design if I may say so myself.

As I procrastinate putting away clean laundry, leaving it to sit and wrinkle in baskets, thoughts flash across my brain like meteors. Did I accomplish enough today? Will I accomplish enough tomorrow? Destiny is calling me so I open up my EAGER eyes, put on my seat belt and prepare for a bumpy ride.

And tomorrow when mumbles pass through groggy lips about the nuisance of having to iron at 6:00 a.m., I will remember, “well, at least your nails are painted, silly girl.”

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My fingertips are holding onto the cracks in our foundation.

Apr 18

I am running on a British-pop music high this month. I’ve been burning cds for over an hour now, and I think my computer has had enough. But next week is sure to test me, and I need some fresh material running through my brain. I am also in dire need of a pedicure, a bike ride through the park (if it weren’t negative 5 million degrees), and perhaps a lobotomy. Sunday has already arrived. And I can’t find the right energy [or words] to make this day become anything more special than Sunday. Sunday, bloody Sunday.

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