My Brain is a large gray mass.

So say my nerve ends.

I was remembering this time when I was working on my psychology project with some friends. We were paper macheing and laughing at some of the random pieces getting glued to this balloon.
As I was painting over the horoscopes I wondered what mine was for the day.
While scanning the page I exclaimed "Cancer!"
My friends replied "What a horrible horoscope!"
-what? no... my birthday is in July... Cancer...?-

Perhaps it's not that funny on the retelling but in my head it's hilarious.

My Thoughts. They're Growing.
They're Increasing in Size. In Pressure.
My head gets bigger.
My head is a watermelon.
my thoughts are those little white seeds in this seedless watermelon.
but, look, a little black seed
i keep looking at that one black seed
transfixed.
and it grows
it grows a little seedling
it grows another watermelon
and now i have two heads
and they're yelling
louder
they're yelling
Because of a little contradiction
A pithy Misdeed
And Now I Have Two Heads

And they're both torn.

So I got a job.
WOOH!
And not really.
18 hours a week. Goodbye childhood.

BUT
for the first time in my life I will have money.
That means I can actually buy things.

I was telling my list of things to a friend and she thought it was rather odd.
I've been mulling over it for a while and felt like sharing it.

#1. A new mp3 player. My old zen micro photo is SUPER outdated. I got that thing before the eighth grade.

#2. A leather clue pad. I have a cheap regular note book but it simply doesn't have the class of this one.

#3. A mechanical pocket watch. My current one is nice and all but I would love one without batteries. Isn't this just gorgeous?

Man. Saving up enough money to buy those things is going to be tough. I'll probably blow it all on heinously priced coffee and movie tickets.
Well. That's youth for ya.

So last night I'm babysitting and this ten-year-old girl says to me
You speak all proper. I feel like I should be drinking tea.
and I responded, while pretending to hold a monocle to my eye
yes, let us have a spot of tea.

after she went to bed I sat on her couch and pondered
What are the point of words, if not to have a little fun with them.
Why can't I call my friends honey lamb and use "the facilities"
Why can't I refer to films as "moving picture shows" or "the talkies"

Why not?

When you're a kid you learn to communicate what you need.
When you grow up, you learn to communicate how you think.
So I tell that little fifth grade girl.
It's okay that you're a nerd.
I carry a pocket watch.

Life, having neither hands or any other sort of appendages, is miraculous in its ability to hand off its possessions. In addition it is capable of growing lemons in an inhospitable environment. I request, therefor, that we receive the aforementioned lemons with an air of awe and gratitude for they were not meant to pucker your cheeks but instead as a young child's "Look what I can do."

I am thoughts and things
and Ideas and exploding
from the inside

a few words have swollen inside my head
and no longer fit.
they're elbowing one another

life makes it difficult to live
so I blind myself with beautiful moments
chords, swells

I'm having too many of those moments where I want to thrash my arms
but instead find myself
arms pinned tightly to my sides

because if I yelled
and screamed
and was angry
for a moment

what would be different?

We don't talk about those things.
I pretend I don't know.
I'm the only one.
And she likes that about me.
I'm the only who won't bring them up.
She is fond of my cataracts.

I want to tell you these things
because they balance so precariously
like a lemon in a still life
the light just doesn't hit them right

but I don't want you to know it all
not in real words
because then I'd have to face it as well
the truth
against the way
I wish it was

She's is still embarrassed to tell us.
Even though she knows we already know.
To rip off the truth like a bandage.

She left her chest bleeding that day.
Opened up, we could see a heart. Two lungs.
And her sadness spilled out the side.

Us girls, we never know, do we.

Being of the female persuasion, I find that I often misread cues.
Pondering meanings I get lost in potential
then feel like drowning when it doesn't follow through.

Maybe it's not the female, maybe it's the human.
Because I've never been anything else.



Take it Frank
Gotta love Sinatra

Some of you may know, I often come up with these theories...

The other day is was
"People swear more in enclosed spaces like cars and stairwells."

Yesterday it was
"Love and loneliness feel a lot alike, both are fine when you're around people and distracted but when you're away it gnaws at your stomach."