"give up your shovel and dig with a spoon"

i think tonight, i shall purchase myself daffodils. (i love daffodils. there's something so unabashed about bright yellow. it's hard to be sad when you have daffodils.) and then the cats will knock them over, and spill water everywhere, or eat themselves sick on them, or something.

intellectually, i know i don't really want to miss everything that's going to happen in the next six months. i don't want to miss the shows, the tattoo, trying to cajole light into taking me back to mystic, the excitement of moving (even if it comes with a lot of hassle attached.) i want east heaven and favorite restaurants and showing him Resident Evil (even if i still think of it as History's and my movie.) I want maine, and meeting Junkyard, and my last spring in the valley. i want summer movie stubs for my scrapbook, and look park, and the way spring smells. i want to drive around the backroads, trying to find baby goats in pens by the side of the road, and i want to take him to atkins farm, i want to savor giving notice, i want to play on the jackson street playground. i want to see if we actually do decide on a one year anniversary, i want to celebrate that may first falls on a saturday.

but part of me wants to fast forward through the next six months, and skip the crying and sleepless nights, the feeling that something's missing all the time, the trying to stay up and getting mad at myself when i can't stay awake long enough to talk to him. i want to skip the hanging on at a job i hate, where i'm tempted to say unspeakable things to my idiot boss everyday, just because i'll eventually be leaving. i don't want to clean the same bathroom again, i want a new bathroom to clean.

something bad is going on socially. i can't put my finger on it, and maybe i won't, but it seems like strange things lurk around the corners. i can never tell the difference between being sensitive to cues, and having the selfesteem of an eggplant until after the moment has passed, but maybe i'm just freaking out because for the first time ever, if History needs to go away, i can't just outwait the need. i feel something less than real right now, comprised of longing and instant messaging and headaches that last days and unread books rather than being a real girl.

modernist poetry, and clothes that remind me that i'm fat again, nausea, dental issues and exhaustion. i can't handle the phone if it's not light, because i know exactly where i stand with him in a way that isn't try of the rest of the world. i'm not quite depressed, but i'm somewhere in the same zip code.

"give up your shovel and dig with a spoon"

i think tonight, i shall purchase myself daffodils. (i love daffodils. there's something so unabashed about bright yellow. it's hard to be sad when you have daffodils.) and then the cats will knock them over, and spill water everywhere, or eat themselves sick on them, or something.

intellectually, i know i don't really want to miss everything that's going to happen in the next six months. i don't want to miss the shows, the tattoo, trying to cajole light into taking me back to mystic, the excitement of moving (even if it comes with a lot of hassle attached.) i want east heaven and favorite restaurants and showing him Resident Evil (even if i still think of it as History's and my movie.) I want maine, and meeting Junkyard, and my last spring in the valley. i want summer movie stubs for my scrapbook, and look park, and the way spring smells. i want to drive around the backroads, trying to find baby goats in pens by the side of the road, and i want to take him to atkins farm, i want to savor giving notice, i want to play on the jackson street playground. i want to see if we actually do decide on a one year anniversary, i want to celebrate that may first falls on a saturday.

but part of me wants to fast forward through the next six months, and skip the crying and sleepless nights, the feeling that something's missing all the time, the trying to stay up and getting mad at myself when i can't stay awake long enough to talk to him. i want to skip the hanging on at a job i hate, where i'm tempted to say unspeakable things to my idiot boss everyday, just because i'll eventually be leaving. i don't want to clean the same bathroom again, i want a new bathroom to clean.

something bad is going on socially. i can't put my finger on it, and maybe i won't, but it seems like strange things lurk around the corners. i can never tell the difference between being sensitive to cues, and having the selfesteem of an eggplant until after the moment has passed, but maybe i'm just freaking out because for the first time ever, if History needs to go away, i can't just outwait the need. i feel something less than real right now, comprised of longing and instant messaging and headaches that last days and unread books rather than being a real girl.

modernist poetry, and clothes that remind me that i'm fat again, nausea, dental issues and exhaustion. i can't handle the phone if it's not light, because i know exactly where i stand with him in a way that isn't try of the rest of the world. i'm not quite depressed, but i'm somewhere in the same zip code.