braces

I was okay with sad. Sad is getting my lip pierced: by the time I realize "oh shit this hurts," it's over. And it is over. What I wasn't prepared for was the pining. This isn't a piercing, this is braces. I'm stuck. I'm fucking stuck and I hate it.

recycling

I was going to blog about this, and then I was like, hey I already said it, I'll just quote myself instead.

I have no faith in people

The excitement is fading and I want to write it down before it goes away completely. Roommate Ben has a nice smile and a silly goatee and can sing and dance and is funny and used to make robots and barrel race (as in, horses!) and moved as far as I did to get away for college, except his college got messed up by a hurricane, and he wants me to make him a hat made out of cheese because he likes cheese quite a lot. He is delightful. I am convinced that he won't write me back.

that's all

I had a very sad and evocative blog post half-written in my head this afternoon. I was thinking about how much of a lie this story I'm writing about my mother is. I was going to tell the other story, or at least a few parts of it. The other story was just as carefully chosen as the first, but for different reasons. But when I got home, I just didn't want to do it.

getting somewhere

WANT and YAY and WOW

I am giggles and shrieks. I am throwing myself on the floor wailing in despair. I am MINE and WANT and YAY and WOW. My heart, it is a two year old, and it is LOUD. It is also drunk. Or I am. We, my heart and I, are drunk.

How to Fight With Your Mother (demo)

Work in progress. Not happy with the white noise in the back of the vocals. Might see if Josh will help me use the fancy intermedia recording lab to rerecord the narration.