Dear East Coast Half Number Two,
It happened. It's all true. I've been dying to call you. But, we're too far apart in age. And I don't think I actually have your phone number. It wouldn't make sense, I got the Internet on my ninth birthday, I can type with my thumbs. I wish we were fifteen months apart and I could spell it all out in traces of my fingertips across your back while we're supposed to be asleep, sleeping soundly on the floor of the one room school house because she forgot to pick us up that day.
I hate him.
I don't know where to start. The beginning? The red shoes?
There are six copies of King Lear in my dining room, and I can't imagine being without any one of them, not for a second.
I feel sorry, I see that I clearly hit a nerve, I feel sorry about that. I also feel like my nerve was hit first, and I'm reacting too, and the joke's on me because I'm the one wandering into bookstores in the middle of the day like an Alzheimer's patient wondering what I was looking for and why there are snakes on the wall.
I'm all muscle memory, excited, and sentimental, and broken, thankfully busted, because I need a new look. Put me on the g-mail pintrest timeline-- time to grow out the bangs already.
I'm lumping things together, I can find the delete key in the dark, but I always have to look for the plus sign.
I would say there are three major things going on right now inside this coconut of a shell. I have officially separated them into three different proteins.
Which is good because it's one thing to fry bacon for dinner, but a completely different thing to accidentally eat an entire package of ham while you're frying the bacon, because you're thinking so hard you have no control over your hands.
I think I will write about these things clearly. In parts. Starting tomorrow I will try to start at the beginning. Part one of many.
++++++++So very happy to be going back to school in the fall. School for me is more about personal triumph in the face of adversity than it is about getting a real job. That said, I intend to put my Master's to use, and get the hell out of waitressing. The plates are so hot.
Going to Grad school has everything to do with me and nothing to do with egg head. That said, I've had enough. I'm going to let him win so that I can take a shower, turn the faucet all the way to the left and piss my brains out.
I got an assistantship. That's the best part. I get to work closely with a smart, nice, silver haired guy who's written lots of books. Plus a huge break in tuition, and a nice stipend.
Maybe if we have time tonight we can roll down the windows and blast the Teagan and Sarah all the way to the DQ. I feel like indulging.