Airplanes in the night sky

May 15

In case you’ve ever wondered, because who hasn’t, right? I wear the same lipstick as Gwen Stefani. That is all.


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We are unusual and tragic and alive.

May 10

I wake up at 5:41 a.m., feeling less than satisfied. The lights turn on, still nobody feels home. I muster up enough energy on this particular morning (and many like it shall follow) to apply the bare minimum war paint upon my face. I think fleetingly about the irony–my constant lack of breathing room, juxtaposed against my need to clog pores Monday through Friday.

For a moment, perhaps just after I’ve switched the CD player to the correct track (and there always is a correct morning track) I feel like I might be prepared. It is this same routine, mixed with random, minor, often microscopic variances that keeps me buzzing about. So there we are, I walk in feeling first like I am ready. Then like I am nothing. And again, as if I am maybe really ready this time. For a while I think, perhaps it’s all a joke, surely it must all be a joke. So I get back to fussing about, creating new lists for a new day, pushing things back…pushing people back. (Maybe pushing people out?) Just when I feel like I’ve settled in as a monotonous drone, one who has perhaps been forgotten about all too quickly…I am enveloped. I grasp on to words, expressions, scents and even breath. And just as quick as you’ve forgotten me and I’ve tried to forget you, I’m back on fire like a real live wire.

I cannot decide if I love to remember, or love to forget. Though I know for fact I am horrible at forgetting. And I loathe, absolutely loathe knowing when I’ve been forgotten on purpose. Even if I’ve asked for it to be so.

Oh, to sit awake late at night illuminated by a poor desk lamp, a palette of oil and a cheap canvas. Those were the days. The raw days. I should have been a dancer. I should have been an artist. I should have been an actress. I should have opened a savings account. I should have paid attention in math class. I should have gone to France. I should have could have would have. And now I’m going to spend the rest of my life filling a huge void created before age 23.

In other news, my first batch of M.A.C. cosmetics arrived. Back to paragraph one.

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