I figured it out.
I want to have
Inconsequential
Fun.

This was not
A haiku.

pep talk.

if i keep spending time thinking about what i'm going to do with my life, i will continuously miss out on the part where i'm living it.

right?

right.

ginmargarita

I want to be in that moment, waiting for the bus to go to Cha Cha Lounge with Jamie Patterson. I want to be going over that mini-bridge from that movie she loves that we watched a million times on the t.v. that we actually had to bang the top of, to get working.

When she asked what I want to do, I told her I was too tired for a question like that? I'm beginning to wonder how much it matters. I have very basic goals in life: I want to be happy. Everything I do is in ordinance with pursuing that one goal. When I stray from it, when I do something that makes me miserable, it's because I'm doing something to make someone else happy. Which in turn is making me happy.

This will also destroy me. I should say can; this CAN also destroy me. If I know no sacrifice, how can I truly be happy. If everything I do is secretly for me, what's the point? Bah.

Bar philosopher.

toes done up and the finger nails matching

once a week, do something lovely for yourself. 

I paint my nails while I watch t.v. online. It's my time to remember to breathe. To look out the window and think. To be alone and to miss someone. I woke up this morning and so I know my life is beautiful. 

xx

love knots.

there was a lot of dirt beneath those books that i began to lay, across my floor, when we first began. i pulled them up this evening, and the staples were just as hard to remove as they were to put in. the first few were laid out so gently, and thoughtlessly. one was from the childhood; most of the others, found. the more i started to think about pages and placement, the construction of the path, the more the voluminous the books became. their pages beginning to rise up, as if to escape. i held off for a few months, in hopes of finding the right books, that would fall open to right pages to guide me on this miniature path of knowledge. the first coincidental pages that i'd opened up to, spoke to me. telling two page, mid-story tales about love, journeys and friendship. the final books came to me in bulk, as a gift, and when i finally found the motivation, i laid them out.

but the last few fell silent. i'd anchored them down without direction, without true passion, but with desire for completion. i pulled them up today to see how easy, or difficult it would be to pull them up- to see if the staples had left their mark in my floor- to see the damage done. maybe i pulled them up because i needed to see my floor again. i had to complete the path for the satisfaction of doing so. i had to erase the path for the pleasure of starting a new one.

my stomach has been writhing about all day. it's finally settled, so i can sleep.

xx

i think the fruit flies are returning

and i believe every creak

to be the pitter-patter of mice.

i can't tell if i'm going crazy, 

or if i'm crazy 

because i'm not going. 

i had to fall over to find balance

i had to clean up to clear my mind. 

sufficient      

suffice 

satisfied. 

teach me the difference. 

i must know everything.

i do know everything!

this, you see has always been
 a problem of mine.

a gift! a problem!

my synonymous moniker. 

      i'm going to build the greatest 

                                                                                                               bank of knowledge 

                                                                                                  of all time. 

but I won't listen to a thing. 

even when you tell me the truth. 

i'm sorry. 

i'm happy you came. 

may i take off your shoes?

would you stay awhile?

lioness

You are now entering a rant.

Sundays are made for laying in bed, ordering delivery and light cleaning. Though I will be doing none of that today, as I'm off to work soon- I am reconfiguring my "natural" scrolling to fit that of my newly acquired operating system. In contemplating writing about it, my mind sped down a path of paranoia.

I've delved back into the world of marketing, in sense. I've been catching up on academic books here and there, watching more television (which is one long commercial, really), being in public more... All of the things that expose us to advertising on a daily basis. It's not news that the general American public is spoon-fed most/all decisions they make, even the vive de resistance of Occupy, so that is not the point I'm trying to make. It's just that I've been scrolling through pages on the internet for years, and here I am learning that up is down and down is up because Apple says that it's "natural scrolling," and Apple is best and always right. Right?

I've stopped using the internet to voice my opinion about things because I watched a special on 60 Minutes about how the internet is trolling through every word we write and that's why ads are so well targeted on Facebook. I knew these things already. I know what cookies do, and lord knows I never delete mine, usually. This morning I found myself deleting my cookies, clearing my cache and history in hopes of tripping up the side-ads lacing my screens. I am trying to trick the internet! What is going on in my brain? It didn't work, by the way; my sidebar-ads are still for home decor and shoes. Sidenote: When you go to clear your cookies it gives you a list of everything that has stored information in your computer. My favorite was from Bedwetters . com. I have never been to that site in my life.

Anyway time to sling some more plates, but that's where I've been... attempting to live my life without the internet knowing what I'm thinking all the time. Strange, this idea of having memories that are mine, "secret" pictures, private thoughts and eating food you'll never see pictures of. Harumph.