Percentages What is in my head? Jello, I think, with a little bit of peppermint and oregano. Thoughts and memories, telephone numbers and faces, formulas and feelings dripping out of my ears, all forgotten on the cotton ends of Kroger brand Q-tips. What is in my heart? Jello, again, I think, with a little bit of cinnamon and some cloves. Emotions and disemotions, rising and falling with the tide, slowly slowing down due to too many late night cheese pizzas. What is in my feet? Cement, this time, mixed with pepper and salt. Paths remembered and walked a million times. The aches of cold weather and bad shoes. My decisions, their consequences, and all the shag carpeting in between. What is in me? 66% Jello.
sister My sister keeps me old and I keep her young. One sister's truth from the other one's tongue. Two generations split In the womb of one mother We walk different paths dreamed up by the other.
bah humbug The lights are dim and make her feel fuzzy. there is a nice numb felling where they tell her her brain is and that dark red place behind her eyelids feels sleepy/burny. Funky music, christmas lights, and her memories. Always a nice combination. She realizes she's on a verge - that place where child begins to shed the shackles that were really never there and move on to create some new ones. A place called Home where your parents don't live, a time where you aren't happy to see an envelope in the mailbox. Crumbled blue jeans worn months before a good wash takes way the comfort. An expanding bustline, expanding ass line, expanding narrow open-mindedness. Complacency. Safe and scary. Is this who I want to be? I jokingly expect to drive a station wagon-- looking for a decent place to live with things like "good neighborhood," "free trash pick-up," and "water included" where "w/FP, 2BR/2.5BA W/D conn, DW" makes perfect, crucial sense. What happened to that idealistic liberalism that said size and location didn't matter so long as it was cheap and had that struggling college independent film student look? I'm becoming a soccer mom. 2.5 kids, car, dog, blah, blah, blah. Must spend spend spend. Holidays were designed to make me poor. I would be cheap and creative, but education doesn't have time in his appointment book for anything like creativity. Do they call this holiday depression? A time of year that is supposed to be so happy and peaceful that ends up reminding you of just where you are in this world and you better not forget it, Mister. I'd like to stick to my Christmas lights and jazz. Christmas should be like that nice time after sex.