The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.

--e. e. cummings

In another title, this post would be called "My Sister is a Palindrome, or might be"

But it's raining outside.


My Sister might be a palindrome. But she might not appreciate it.
I might wear my watch right side up, so that you may read it.
I might like freshly ground coffee with only honey or only sugar and half & half. Never milk.
I'm might be reading, now, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.
I may or may not have Dyscalculia.
It might be raining outside. It might also be that my feet are FREEZING.
I might like my soup burning hot. Scalding even.
I might like you. But, I might not talk about it.
I might be in love with The Battle at Isus.
I might not be fast.
I might love the cold.
I might go puddle jumping.
I might throw Rice Krispies at you. The ones with the writable packaging.
I might sit and wonder why.

"If you want to look at my feet, say so," said the young man. "But don't be a God-damned sneak about it."

Exceedingly long title, but such a beautiful line.

Eh, eh. Being sneaky lately. Like noticing my sister's morose aura at having broken up with her 30 year old pet monkey, or, boyfriend, as he was so lovingly called. He had a five-o-clock shadow er'day, and I mean I was like "what the hell you always got to be sitting on my coach making my sister feel all loved and shit, dayyyuuummm." But love never lasts, now does it?

But let me explain about the stickers.
You see, me madre is in this Master's Program through the fine institute of ODU, which I don't actually know is fine, but they do have this fountain, which raises them up on my college application a notch. 1 or 2, actually. So, she's getting this cute little teaching degree and the teacher assigns this do-good experimental "stickers" where if we say nice things to family members like, 'nice shoes' or, 'you aren't a bitch today, it's awesome" then we get rewards! Like ponies! And carrion! And beer!
But no, we ACTUALLY have to do nice things, so that we ACTUALLY have to hang out as a family. Which is ACTUALLY always unpleasent and always ends with the oh-so-famous line (and my personal favorite)--

"Why did you have to ruin this?"

(Due to my character: a bit harsh, with overtones of sarcasm and hints of "I don't give a fuck"-especially in my earlier Kaiser Chiefs period I almost always earned this line at the end of every "trip" together (and can't you see, it makes me glow with pride))

Anyway, listening to the Pocahontas soundtrack so my running mellow isn't harshed.Peace.

Pitter/Patter

Rainfall.
And some have it right, there is nothing better than rain on a tin roof, and naps under said roof.
But, I don't have a roof like that. Mine is normal.
So, I'm in need of a tin roof to borrow, especially for rainy day naps.
Call me, I'll pay reasonable prices.
It's also in the agreement that I need a (somewhat clean) sofa, or bed, or perhaps shag carpeting to nap upon. I don't mind if it's a bit musty and smells like old books. I like that smell.
And I'll raise the price if you have a COPPER roof. 'Cause those are just awesome.
I haven't heard the acoustics of slate roofs, but I imagine that they sound nice as well.
I also like grilled cheese after napping. Or macaroni and cheese. Or cider.
Book reading is nice too.
Soft jazz and/or folk.
Snuggly socks.
Warm lighting.
A slight cold draft.
A view of a tree(s).
Yeah, I'd pay for that.

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me the News!

'Cause I've got a bad case of....
Gunky eyeballs.
See, there's this thing when I free my eyes of glasses and wear super awesome contacts, that my eyes turn completely bloodshot. As if I smoked a shit load of weed. An ELEPHANT shit load. And not only that, but it also feels as if a rather small fist, like a baby's, has come and given me a stiff right hook, right in the lookers. And not ONLY that, but it forms this lovely crud which I feel The Beatles summed up in this one lyric--
"Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog's eye."
-I Am the Walrus
It's okay to cringe, it's pretty repulsive I'll admit.
So I'm wandering into my Optometrist's office for the billionth time this month (or the second, I'm not sure) and by this time the receptionist actually calls me on my phone (at school) to tell me that my mom has scheduled an appointment, just for me, as if I'm special. My optometrist and I are forming quite a repore, he asks me nothing about my personal life and I ask him why my eye is so mortally fucked up.
"I think my eye may be dying, right at the roots, you now, like when small inbred dogs pop their eyeballs out and it's tethered with that string thingy..."

"Your optic nerve."

"Oh, that's what that is. Crap, yeah, it's severing...at least, it feels like it is. Is there a cure to this disease, my diseased little, beautiful, blue..."

"Here's your prescription, now get the fuck out of my office."

"Okay. :["

Or something like that.

Also, all these male nudes in Art History are making it highly uncomfortable to sit next to underclassmen. Because they can't handle fuzzy ancient Hercules man balls. Just. Can't. Do It.

"In the Disney movie he wore clothes."

Punch.

Fall-lala-la-la

Fall is the worst season known to man, and be assured, man has known about it for quite some time. It's not just the acorns, and the gathering fuzzy little squirrels, or the whacked- out weather. It's the feel. The cold mornings where you jog down to the kitchen while Listerining and stare at the coffee pot in a confused stupor until you realize again that you're actually awake and not in one of those pre-morning dreams where you dream that you just brushed your teeth. But then you realize that you aren't in the mood for coffee, still swishing away with mouthwash BECAUSE of the mouthwash, and you can't drink orange juice, because eww, mint and orange war in the mouth. So you pull the stale coffee out of the pantry and make yourself a pot and you put honey and milk in it and it's too sweet and then you dash off to school where you promptly fall asleep in calculus because your body just won't let you sleep anymore.

This Fall it's like Summer got out its glock and concrete and took care of that whiny Autumn by throwing it in the Hudson. It's the no let off bow that will eventually break because the finger slips and it shatters into a million pieces, and not pieces of crisp 60 degree weather, but of snow. Or maybe it will never snow. It will just be a million degrees forever and the Fall will fade into brown grass with brown dogs laying brown turds in the lovely little piles of brown leaves you rake up.

And Fall, and running, makes me have these weird cravings. Like for more sleep, and friends, and olives and arts and crafts and college and electronic music which has this weird effect of being both slow and fast at the same time and I feel the need to run on and on and on and on with no commas. But I just wish it would be 30 degrees with a chance of blizzard conditions because I love the feeling cold air makes in your lungs as you run. Like you're being torn inside by multiple lumps of steel wool and it always makes me crave hot chocolate. Basically, I want Summer to end and Winter to begin. Fin.

mawage.

So, Kat's wedding was darling, completely and utterly spectacular. I'm going to fuss over it for forever with that high pitched squealing easily excitable girls do that goes something like eeeeeeeOOOAAaaaahhhhhhhHHH!!!

My Internet was down today for the billionth time so I ramble on over to Baine's to see what the general biz is and to get more understandable directions from my old stand by, Mr. Google Maps. But, he wasn't any help as is commonly the case for Appo back roads so then Dustin helps me out and by that time it's 2:20 and the wedding starts at three so I jump back over to the house, throw myself into a dress and demi heals and some handy mascara, put Lil in her kennel, kiss her good-bye (by this time my sister and parents had already gone somewhere else) and scamper off down 460 while counting the ever escaping minutes. I turn off the highway onto a back road, onto another back road, which leads to a gravel road (which is highly washboarded and as I fly down it my teeth chatter and almost fall out of my mouth), which leads to a driveway full of rocks and I'm there. But where is there? I see absolutely no tulle (which basically is the sign of a wedding anywhere) but the cars keep rolling in and I'm directed into a shuttle disguised as a mini van and driven down to a turn around that drops down into woods. There Bryan greets me, seeing as in the last 3 months or so he has been ordained, not only as the owner of the store, but also as (a commissioner of weddings...?) and will be legally wedding the lovely bride and groom. So in I go down the path through the woods, thanking my lucky stars I went out and bought a pair of almost flats before the wedding instead of all the pairs of 4-inch heels I have floating around in my closet, and I walk into a little cleared "valley", which on one side of a creek holds the wedding party and the other side holds the guests who sit upon the hill in white wedding fold up chairs as the party and band slowly trickle down the slightly treacherous path to sit under a huge and handsome, gray barked Beech.

Deja Moo and Ken and Bonnie strike up wagon wheel as Kat walks down and looks stunning, shes had the family (and minister) bedecked, not in flowers, but in peacock flowers, and all the girls in the ceremony where feathers in their hair, which I must say looks gorgeous and makes me want to rave (and copy) the whole design. The flowers are all from a friend of the family and are all wildflowers and they look delicate but not too arts and crafty and then they say their vows and they pop on their rings and doves fly out...not really, but we all get up and clap because the whole ceremony smelled like sweet leaves and cedars and everybody is hugging and the sanctuary is made of trees.

After we all hug and shake the hands of the groom and hug the bride and some of us hide from the cameras because they haven't worn a dress since the 5th grade (not me, I assure you) we all make our way up to their newly built pottery workshop that has beer and sweet tea, which by this time we are all dying for, it hasn't rained in decades, and sit in the shade. The band strikes up and a million pictures are taken and I write a message to Kat on her white board and the food is amazing, sweet couscous and grilled chicken, and barbecue because well, this is very much a southern affair. All the people fan out and the Baine's group, older and newer sit together for support and gossip and I just lean back and sip my tea and watch all the black and white clad ladies fan themselves as the late afternoon sun turns everything red. It smells like freshly brewed coffee and ladies perfume and sweat and the cold smell of clay and fresh flowers and candle wax and the band sings Sippin Cider and my other favorites and I watch as the crowd becomes steadily more intoxicated and friendly, but I have to leave and go to work and now I smell like coffee and my feet are still dirty from the wedding. All and all, a good day for the sanctity and harmonious binding of mawage.

September

Tomorrow is homecoming. It would be an oppurtune night to die and watch The Graduate and learn guitar and study. But instead I'll write a little something about sleeping.

Red eyelid mornings
in a green orchard field
10 is the Sun on it's way from far east
somewhere between flannel and sheets
orchard grass cut in hammocks
over green grass, swinging

Much too late to wake up
cover myself in grasses
and spend time watching the apples ripen
breathing in dusty, dewey alfalfa beside my bed
my mouth tasting like peanut butter

Rolling over to catch
that mocking bird twittling out
a laughing snide remark at my extreme bed head
I try to hid my eyes
behind my blood eyelid red




School--Life
"oh I'm just a failure rolling in misery

like if I was a reese cup

misery would be my choclatey covering

and peanut butter would be my soft creamy failure"

I'm waiting for my hair to grow longer now. They say it's asign of a steady relationship for a woman to claim territory over hair and then to chop off all her lovely locks. To analyze
--it could be that they want their boyfriends to worry about them.
--it could be because they want to gain power over said friend.
--it could be because their hair is hot.
--maybe the want to donate it to a good cause.
--maybe it's a war for what is mine and what is yours in the relationship.

Why do girls cut their hair?

--she wants to look edgy.
--she's tired of being beautiful.
--it's grown too long, so as they can tuck it into their pants.
--she needs change.
--it's because you have her body, but you can't have her hair.

Whatever it is, it's growing out now.

Barefoot bouncing.

You want to know what I love, sometimes, more than anything in the world?
Being alone after running, in the heat, oh the dreaded heat.
Swallowing all the water in the world in one huge gulp.
Taking my shoes, and my socks, off. Slowly.
Wrinkling up my toes so that they stretch and feel good.
And collapsing in some very cool and soft and bouncy and shaded grass.
And just laying there.
Quietly.
Without the boys team, oh the dreaded boys team.
Without the middle schoolers.
Without the goddamn freshmen.
Without music.

But then I'd get up in the morning and do it all over again.
I swear I would.


I miss playing frisbee.

--I like school this year.
Let's go color guys.