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you can manage. 17 february 1999. self-sufficient.
my lips smell of cinnamon. mm. tasty. i'm having trouble complaining. as i told john, i'm sitting in this cloudy darkness given off by there not really being a sun & me not turning on lights. like living in the middle of a cloud. i wanted to do that when i was little. i want to do it when i'm old. when you fly through the middle of a cloud in that enclosed flying machine, it's like the spirit of the sky passing through your stomach. please put your tray tables in the upright position. for one of the first times, the wind is coming in, breezing in, & i'm not chilled by it. rather contented. sometimes it's too harsh, up this high. if you look closely sometimes you can see the swirls & currents. tut tut. it could rain, but i doubt it will do more than look menacingly.. all talk, no action. cut a tiny hole in the slice of sun. it's also, as i told john, ash wednesday. oh. this means nothing to me besides the fact that people are walking around with granite-colored smudges on their foreheads (which i spelled wrong in my email, now that i look back. dumbo). i'm talking to jesh at the moment. i went back & looked at one of my journals where i started talking to jen again. wendy im'd me this morning. i think we all need to forget the "i stopped talking to you" bullshit & just move on. i think i was way too preoccupied with that thought. the "oh, i'm so sorry i haven't written but _enter excuse here_" apologizing that doesn't really need to be going on. just fuck it all & ask the questions that pertain to now, not then.. mm. my god, how everything changes but we still cling to familiarity. hold me in this place. |
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