Something prohibiting my removal from bed before 7 am.
it's just not right.
but at least I'm not sick anymore--
yesterday was not great.
we think maybe food poisoning, but whatever.
it's over, I'll not speak of it again.
What an odd assortment of dreams I had last night!
I was actually attempting to snort cocaine--???!!!
where in the fuck did my subconscious come up with THAT one?
and then I dreamed that I finally got eMule to work, and I was happily downloading songs.
so far, the only thing I like less about my new house, than my old house, is the location, re: views.
had stunning views.
breathtaking, soul cleansing views.
it's more "in the city", I guess.
most of my windows all I can see is sky and houses.
upstairs, out of the windows surrounding my bathtub, I can see the mountains.
but it's not the same, and I don't spend a lot of time there.
I'm sure I'll get used to it.
I'll just have to go searching for some good trails...
ok, what it really means is that i'm living in the suburbs and I'm a rural kinda girl.
I want an old farmhouse, with trees as my only neighbors.
I want to live where property values are low because NOBODY ELSE WANTS TO LIVE THERE.
...I wish I wasn't so resistant to change.
I want to drive a fast car, faster
I want to feel the wind ripping through my hair, reddening my cheeks.
I want to leap into the air and fly to the moon--
Just sitting there, with my knees tucked under my chin,
Looking down on this little blue and green bouncy ball,
I would feel more homesick than the worst day in Utah.
I would glide back to earth...
Flying low over the ocean, watching for the massive dark forms of whales--
Terrifying in their largeness.
I would never want to stop flying, if I knew how.
I know what it feels like, because I fly in my dreams,
And I know that it wouldn't last forever.
I want to gallop a horse down the length of a beach--
And dismount, breathless and blinking--12 years have slipped to the other side of me, and I'm 17 again.
I would do things differently, then quietly step out into the cold, wet dawn and canter to the other side of the beach, and 29--smiling, satisfied, and sad in an entirely different way.
The lines on my palms tell a story--
To a con artist.
The pattern of my laughter, tells the real story.
My posture, my breathing are the footnotes.
I yearn to fly, to be immortal--
To be alone sometimes.
Using the word "yearn" makes me feel vulnerable, somewhat dorky.
But I don't mind being a dork.
back to bed.
...because I can.