dropping segues

I am waiting. I am writing checks and avoiding vowels and I'm waiting.

I'm fighting my constant compulsion to stick in a fulcrum and see which side sags, my perpetual desire to always balance a bad with a good.

For example, TODAY WAS A WASTE BECAUSE OF THE WAY I FELT AND ACTED. But no, of course it wasn't, because of a 1946 edition of Ladies Home Journal and dark chocolate and clever coworkers and an hour on the phone with my mom and dark, leafy night air. Today is never a waste. I noticed patterns! I am still getting to know me, it's true--after all these years. Ah, a new key to that one door in my head, you clever, intemperate girl.

The wind was at my back this afternoon. Thank god--that's how I made it home!

I'm soft today. Day three of derailing (that's where I hit the limit and come back up for air). And by soft I also mean, do you know that football sometimes makes me cry?? And the thought that I've disappointed my brother? And thinking of how I'll miss that kickass closet I painted in five or six colors when I was 15? And Beatles songs? My word.