[[gunna set my heart at ease.]]
dearests,
(out of chronological order):
i burned my belly and my chest all up today,
fell asleep at the hot springs and woke up three shades of red.
bought some sailor pants and had some pasta with cheddar cheese.
wrote a love letter or two. sent a package.
found a dollar fifty on the floor.
sat in the wet sauna and the dry sauna,
and the hot hot hot sulfur springs and the freezing ones too.
watched the smoke rise up off the mountains.
watched the sun on the mountains.
watched the moon on the mountains.
loved babies.
got fitted for my costume (i get to be a gandy dancer).
called california and talked to justin about when he comes out.
ate a popsicle.
listened to les miserables.
breathed in real hard.
missed some important people.
rode a bike five miles at eight thirty in the morning.
and that was just today.
i've learned that the telling truth is not always the right option,
but if you don't know it then you are about to be worthless
(to yourself and everyone around you).
i've learned never to buy thirty five pounds of cucumbers from the hudderites,
even if it is a great deal and they are delicious cucumbers.
i've learned not to drive so fast around the corners on dirt roads.
i've learned that everyone is finally in love, in this part of the country,
and it hurts my heart to watch.
i've learned just how much i love new york. and just how much i love montana,
and how it's the same kind of missing i just know how to miss montana better.
i've learned how much i am going to miss new york (and bambi) in the fall
but i haven't learned what to do about that just yet.
the air is cold tonight and not so dry because it rained a little today.
it smells like hay and like food and like people i love.
denise is taking a shower on the other side of the door and
she is singing, "killing me softly." and i am very full of pasta
and ice cream and memories and air and soft things.
i will put on some aloe vera lotion as to help sleep tonight, you know,
to ease the burn. and i will lie on my back in the trailer and listen
to the rain on the metal roof. and i will breathe. i will think about you.
and the way your face looks when you sleep. and how it is.
it is not perfect, and it's hard. and sometimes it is terrible even.
but right now, right now it is as good as it can be.
because i am letting it.
love,
emily.
(out of chronological order):
i burned my belly and my chest all up today,
fell asleep at the hot springs and woke up three shades of red.
bought some sailor pants and had some pasta with cheddar cheese.
wrote a love letter or two. sent a package.
found a dollar fifty on the floor.
sat in the wet sauna and the dry sauna,
and the hot hot hot sulfur springs and the freezing ones too.
watched the smoke rise up off the mountains.
watched the sun on the mountains.
watched the moon on the mountains.
loved babies.
got fitted for my costume (i get to be a gandy dancer).
called california and talked to justin about when he comes out.
ate a popsicle.
listened to les miserables.
breathed in real hard.
missed some important people.
rode a bike five miles at eight thirty in the morning.
and that was just today.
i've learned that the telling truth is not always the right option,
but if you don't know it then you are about to be worthless
(to yourself and everyone around you).
i've learned never to buy thirty five pounds of cucumbers from the hudderites,
even if it is a great deal and they are delicious cucumbers.
i've learned not to drive so fast around the corners on dirt roads.
i've learned that everyone is finally in love, in this part of the country,
and it hurts my heart to watch.
i've learned just how much i love new york. and just how much i love montana,
and how it's the same kind of missing i just know how to miss montana better.
i've learned how much i am going to miss new york (and bambi) in the fall
but i haven't learned what to do about that just yet.
the air is cold tonight and not so dry because it rained a little today.
it smells like hay and like food and like people i love.
denise is taking a shower on the other side of the door and
she is singing, "killing me softly." and i am very full of pasta
and ice cream and memories and air and soft things.
i will put on some aloe vera lotion as to help sleep tonight, you know,
to ease the burn. and i will lie on my back in the trailer and listen
to the rain on the metal roof. and i will breathe. i will think about you.
and the way your face looks when you sleep. and how it is.
it is not perfect, and it's hard. and sometimes it is terrible even.
but right now, right now it is as good as it can be.
because i am letting it.
love,
emily.