If I am the dreamer, then Thou art the dream

If I am the pebble, then Thou art the stream

If I am the sapling, then Thou art the beam

Thou art the laughter, Thou art the dream

Thou art the dream

-branches

postponed

"I love deadlines.  I love the whoosing noise they make as they go by." -Douglas Adams

oh my my my

the clock is at midnight:19 which means is way past my bed time, which is the best time, in all the waves we ride during the day! last week, i got a new bike. i call it Beatnik and I can't stop riding! its a fixed gear, which i just have to adapt to. the pedals are always moving- much like me. its thin, black, and sleek (not so like me). it was an expensive purchase. i sold my other bike, sold my antique dresser and used all of my federal tax return to pay for it. but it's so light i can lift it with one arm over my head. i tried- three times and was surprised each and every time!

lull-a-bye bye!

from late April

it feels so weird to be at a lull. a period of nothing, the eye of the storm, a day where everything is in slow motion. my classes are so easy, i've shut big emotional doors and opened others. i'm standing in the no-man's land with nothing to do. a lull. how many people experience this?

so i stayed in bed all day yesterday. well- not all day. i took my little 5-year old friend Georgia to school at 8am (mornings with Georgia are either the best or the worst part of my day. we can be all giggles or all tears. kids have so much to teach us), then crawled back to bed fully decked out in my rain shell and wool socks (it had been pouring) and woke up at 11:30. i felt like a deflated party balloon. my head was throbbing, my vision was a little blurry like looking into a steamy mirror.

nick ham came and checked on me at lunch. nick ham is a good guy. he cares so deeply for his friends- it amazes me. he goes, "you're bummed out, are you sure you're okay? this isn't normal for you." "yes, nick ham, i'm just so tired!" he came back 4 hours later- i was still reciting the same line. 

maybe more than anything, it's my heart that's tired. hearts need  so much attention. they need to move around, get comfortable, they shrink in fear, they swell with pride. and most of it depends on how other's treat your heart, not just you. 

last week, our front window shattered when a gust of wind blew through our apartment and slammed the front door shut. it was boarded up and our kitchen was perpetually dark (we've failed to replace the light bulb). i've placed candles circling around my oven in order to cook. i tell my mom often that i think what a person needs in order to function in the place they live is good lighting. good lighting and a clean kitchen. so naturally, i figured "that's why i'm so tired! horrible lighting and dirty dishes for days."

so i got up and

-washed the dishes

-took the trash out

-organized the junk on the coffee table

-watered my sunflowers

-ate 25 blackberries

-drank a liter of water

-swept the floors

-hung up my clean clothes (which have been sitting, waiting, for a week) & stuffed all my laundry in it's basket
-cleaned the bathroom sink!
- organized my headbands...by colour
-made my bed. twice.

i need to learn how to embrace lazy days.

my mom hasn't cleaned off the mirrors in my room at home since junior year of high school. she had given me some crayola window markers and i got down to business.
in pink letters, i had written, "I'M NOT ALRIGHT!!!!!" and now i wonder, "what wasn't alright?!"
i asked her if she was planning on wiping it off anytime soon (my room doubles as the guest room and i've wondered often if she's embarrassed by the things i wrote, what friends had written, how blatantly it is displayed. i could put a disclaimer plaque on my door that says "she's in college now, she's got it together, please disregard the psychobabble on the mirrors.").
she said, "it's yours to clean off whenever you decide. i won't do it for you."
it needs to get Windex-ed. badly. it's begging for it. it's hard to let go of it though- look at all the history! the highs and lows, out in the open where they can be seen, remembered, understood. what if i miss them? what will it be like to look into the mirrors and see my face without the distortion of words long past?