walter asked me if i had any hobbies yesterday. it was an awkward question and i felt myself trying to bullshit my way into convincing both of us that i do have hobbies. but i don't and i asked him about his and he could not think of anything either so i felt better about it. but still not great. i have felt very one dimensional lately. and i know that i am not but my inability to speak in front of people has finally caught up with me and made me believe i have little to say.

my sister is always asking me what i am reading. i like reading again. my glasses are not reading glasses but they make it easier to read. i think it is because my eyes don't hurt as much anymore. they are not so strained. she is reading all the time and always some fascinating book that i want to borrow but restrain from asking because i know i will let it sit on the shelf for years and she will be annoyed by that and i will just feel guilty.

i started a book on the train this morning. the woman warrior by maxine hong kingston. i first read it when i was nineteen for my first women's studies class. i think it changed my life but i barely remember it. it is a good reread. there are several stories and the first, which i just finished, is about her aunt who killed herself in china because she got pregnant while her husband was away. the village attacked their house and ruined their crops, killed their animals, and beat her the night she was to give birth. She gave birth and drowned herself and her baby in the family well. the author was told this story after she get her period, a warning of what can happen if you have sex. she was told only these details but the story she tells in her book is longer, fleshed out. i find it interesting how we flesh out stories that are part of our history. our need to plug in details to understand what is happening. maybe everyone does not do that. but i do. and i feel like i have grown up around a lot of stories that are just bones. no meat. no flesh. no skin. our imaginations help us understand.

i am really tired. not like sleep tired but hella drained, kinda want to punch a deflated balloon tired. it is going to rain soon and i am going to be stuck in it with non waterproof boots and will have stinky soggy feet for a three hour show. that i am seeing all alone.

my life feels foreign right now and i would like it back.


puke on a pigeon.

did i just say that?

i think i am hitting a quarter life crisis. or i have spring fever. or both. i cannot concentrate in a really awesome and very not cool way. 

i am slightly overwhelmed. and i am realizing that i always am and that is just this feeling that we have that may pass for a day but not a lifetime.

i have entered some dark period where i have realized that i will never have it figured out. that i have no obsolete. there is some moral code that i am standing on but it is inside me and becomes clouded. often. my parents weren't right all the time. still aren't. we all carry too much.

i think going home to kansas screwed with my brain.

 i think i have woken up from hibernation but now i just feel restless.

too much time in front of this square today.

over and out.

no children

dear john m. goat,

i am sorry i did not sing every word, or any word, along with the crowd during no children tonight. i know them. all of them. i sang in my head, moving my tongue a bit, articulating all the words to myself and nobody else. i am not good at showing enthusiasm in large groups. lame, i know.

i was glad i got to see you. there were a lot of people. you have gotten famous. i am happy for you for sure, but it is odd to realize that everyone ELSE connects to you and your songs. sometimes i think you wrote them just for me. i would talk about the smaller, more intimate shows i have seen you play in the past but then i would annoy myself, like that girl in the bathroom line annoyed me. she was there to see the opening man, not you. telling us that gave her scene points of some sort. clearly if she is just there for the OPENER then she knows something. i wanted to tell her that i had closed my heart off to all men with acoustic guitars. that i had enough between sir john, damien j not r and the rocky v. that i will listen to new men on the pandora but cannot let my heart or my itunes out any further. 

anyways, you seem happier. i think you eat now and no, i am not calling you fat. i think i am happier now too and i am eating more as well. The first time i saw you we both seemed distraught. i got drunk and angry and slept in my car. the story is more interesting than that but i will save that for later.

nobody writes poems anymore.

my portland boyfriend was a poet.

which is probably why we dated and also probably why we did not work out.

i have one grand story about him that i will not share just on some off chance that he would find this blog and hate me for telling the interweb world. 

we have a speckled past, we don't keep in contact. i am not sure we like eachother in the least. i am pretty sure we both blame the other one for ruining some part of our early twenties.

two summers back he was passing through chicago from mexico and onto portland. we sat on some kid's front porch on california avenue drinking jarritos soda.

he told me he was still writing. just not love poems.

i told him that was probably for the best.

i got a tattoo when i was nineteen. Actually, i got several but only one was incredibly specific to me being nineteen. it says truth. i wanted to remember what that word meant to me when i was nineteen and why it was important. there is not a definition. more of a feeling. and i can only grasp it if i concentrate and kinda hold my breath...
if i do anything, become anything, make any art worth watching ever in my possibly long, maybe short life, it will be a tribute to that tattoo.

i am spending evenings in a room full of eighteen yearolds. it is pretty amazing. it makes me feel old. or just different. it makes me remember why i was different eight years ago, it makes the last eight years seem so long yet so short at the same time.

i made them make me mix cds about love. they are pretty awesome. i have to make one too....

i just listened to this song three times in a row....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQi8wEHMm5Y

it is very dark in my office. usually it does not matter because one entire wall is basically a window but it is cloudy, like i can see foggy cloudness wisp by me. I got a lamp but it doesn't really give off much light. barely any, actually.
I am eating pot roast stew. almost done. a few minutes ago i started thinking about how i really wished i had a cookie for after my stew. i thought about it and then realized i DID. i took a napkin last night and wrapped up one chocolate chip cookie and one chocolate cupcake (no icing) because i still had desert on my plate when the play was bout to start.
YUM.
is that ghetto? i don't even care. suck it!