Alright. I usually take to the floor in times of despair–I’m dramatic and I need a straight spine and an uncomfortable place to have uncomfortable thoughts.
Here I tend to lay with my discarded, nighttime sock—one I had peeled off and tossed from bed some hours earlier using only my right, big toe.
Often, In these moments I am hurting, unable to sleep, and deeply impressed by my dexterity.
Not tonight though. No. Tonight, I am here on the floor with purpose. I feel okay. Good, even. I feel like I could stand to laugh at myself.
And not in disbelief or embarrassment either. Just because I can.
So, dear, sweet reader. For your reading pleasure and mine, I dip again into the cesspool of self-doubt and revelation that is my twitter drafts.
What an odd thing to collect–nearly unreadable shit deemed inappropriate for my fondest, waking nightmare. Oh well.
Here:
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Furniture made for me? I don’t wanna bespeak about it.
“Remember me when you publish your first book!” First of all, that’s incredibly optimistic. Second of all, I absolutely will not.
Too-Pretty-To-Be-Sad Teen Pop Sensations Are Channeling A ‘The Front Bottoms’ Level of Messy Codependency. The People Love It. Must Be Stopped.
Half Your Age plus 7 Wonders of the World: a travel guide for age-gap relationships.
I hope you meddling kids are happy. Or sad. Good luck finding an accurate state of being now that you’ve ruined the word “liminal”
when Steve Burns said “you look great by the way” I know he meant my 4 grueling years in treatment and subsequent recovery or maybe that I dyed my hair
Can’t hang. Busy at the letterpress shop then going home to my softest blanket.
Oooooo!!! Scary poet!
I’ve lost 144 chess games to the same man. I must really be in love (I am) or really bad at chess (that too)
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That’s all for now. It’s not much. More to come.
I love you.
X.
Girl Seeking Peanut Butter 