Hey hey, ma'ams
daffodil buds
and clamshells and my feet smell like sea weed and brine
I woke up late this morning and my room wasn't lit with an ambient golden, midmorn glow, because it's been so gray and stew-y, so I rolled back up in a ball and dreamed about flying
when I went out to feed the cats, the sun burst through the despondent lump of grayblue cloud-mass right above me, and my face warmed up, and a breeze scuttled around the dead leaves and blew forsythia scent up and all around me. I love forgetting what flowers smell like, just for that wonderful moment that comes every spring.
the bluebells and snowdrops are everywhere, except that so is the excessive mud, from the excessive gray cold rain we've been enjoying.
Mom dad and I went down to the beach today, to go for a walk. We tend to bond better outside when we have the option of walking away quickly, or in a room full of crowded, happy dancing people. But that's a ponderance for another day. There were piles upon piles of great, so white they were almost glowing clam shells (and quohog too, and because we live here we know the difference... absurd pride?). So we turned around and drove the five minutes home, mom and I, to get buckets. We filled up the entire trunk of her car, frantically and methodically in turns shuttling gallon pail after gallon pail back and forth over the dunes. I don't know why this stuck out as the most important and exciting thing that happened today, but it's sort of a glistening moment. I guess it doesn't need any good reason. Oh, and small children are adorable and obnoxious - I was crouched over in a simian style (grunting and hairy and all) rooting through the piles of twisted, dried up seaweed and clattering shells into my dirty white pail, and sudden a pink glove appears right in front of my face. It is attached to a tiny little pink creature with butterfly barrets and she is laughing at me. Cute? She grabs some shells from right in front my impending hand and kicks off away from me, triumphant. That was Baby Imperialistic England, right there. Lil Victoria. Later, as mom and I are sinking into the mounded up sweep of sand that always fills the walkways, two twin boys begin bopping around us. They're about 3, I think. Hey, hey! Whatcha doin with all those shells? We're collecting them, so we fill up our driveway! It's muddy from all the rain. Oh. -thinking. All right, that's ok. The other twin darts off in between us. Hey! Hey! Ma'ams! (this seems logical, as the plural form of two scary looking women) Ma'ams, that's not your brother! He's my brother! What are you doing with my brother?
and dancing on friday... at Brown. That was ..interesting. I'm glad though that I went. I needed to sort reactions out, to fit things in on an external level, besides all the nonsense my own subconscious puts me through. I'm glad I dealt with all those people who the first (and only) thing they ask is "Did you hear back from schools?" I'm glad that the brown students who met me were genuinely disappointed and surprised, some of them, and some of the a little disdainful. I'm really glad my friend was almost more upset than I was, that first day. It's not schaudenfraude, it's just assertation of something I held to be true. And I was looking more and more at my other schools, though I'm still going to do follow-ups on wesleyan and brown. And things won't be bad, no matter what, which I knew. The application process is an absolute crap shoot though. It's all bogus.
But there are flowers and birds singing from 6 am until 8 pm and a blue to the sky that has a depth and a volume to it
and we talk about time travel and other dimensions
I wonder what the sky looks like from the higher dimensions, if seeing along the length of time and space combined would muddy it or intensify
I wonder what an alien equivalent to picking flowers would be. It's all nonsense, of course, nonsensical I'm feeling quixotic and quizzical I want to rumble jumble words around I need to paint I may have an idea, I think it's time for pasta and some more fiddle.
I also would like to spend time with yous, my dears. because it's not like I'm intentionally idiosyncracising myself, I don't think that's necessary on any level.
hey hey whatcha doing? watching the trees grow and the ground swell and the earth sing.
and clamshells and my feet smell like sea weed and brine
I woke up late this morning and my room wasn't lit with an ambient golden, midmorn glow, because it's been so gray and stew-y, so I rolled back up in a ball and dreamed about flying
when I went out to feed the cats, the sun burst through the despondent lump of grayblue cloud-mass right above me, and my face warmed up, and a breeze scuttled around the dead leaves and blew forsythia scent up and all around me. I love forgetting what flowers smell like, just for that wonderful moment that comes every spring.
the bluebells and snowdrops are everywhere, except that so is the excessive mud, from the excessive gray cold rain we've been enjoying.
Mom dad and I went down to the beach today, to go for a walk. We tend to bond better outside when we have the option of walking away quickly, or in a room full of crowded, happy dancing people. But that's a ponderance for another day. There were piles upon piles of great, so white they were almost glowing clam shells (and quohog too, and because we live here we know the difference... absurd pride?). So we turned around and drove the five minutes home, mom and I, to get buckets. We filled up the entire trunk of her car, frantically and methodically in turns shuttling gallon pail after gallon pail back and forth over the dunes. I don't know why this stuck out as the most important and exciting thing that happened today, but it's sort of a glistening moment. I guess it doesn't need any good reason. Oh, and small children are adorable and obnoxious - I was crouched over in a simian style (grunting and hairy and all) rooting through the piles of twisted, dried up seaweed and clattering shells into my dirty white pail, and sudden a pink glove appears right in front of my face. It is attached to a tiny little pink creature with butterfly barrets and she is laughing at me. Cute? She grabs some shells from right in front my impending hand and kicks off away from me, triumphant. That was Baby Imperialistic England, right there. Lil Victoria. Later, as mom and I are sinking into the mounded up sweep of sand that always fills the walkways, two twin boys begin bopping around us. They're about 3, I think. Hey, hey! Whatcha doin with all those shells? We're collecting them, so we fill up our driveway! It's muddy from all the rain. Oh. -thinking. All right, that's ok. The other twin darts off in between us. Hey! Hey! Ma'ams! (this seems logical, as the plural form of two scary looking women) Ma'ams, that's not your brother! He's my brother! What are you doing with my brother?
and dancing on friday... at Brown. That was ..interesting. I'm glad though that I went. I needed to sort reactions out, to fit things in on an external level, besides all the nonsense my own subconscious puts me through. I'm glad I dealt with all those people who the first (and only) thing they ask is "Did you hear back from schools?" I'm glad that the brown students who met me were genuinely disappointed and surprised, some of them, and some of the a little disdainful. I'm really glad my friend was almost more upset than I was, that first day. It's not schaudenfraude, it's just assertation of something I held to be true. And I was looking more and more at my other schools, though I'm still going to do follow-ups on wesleyan and brown. And things won't be bad, no matter what, which I knew. The application process is an absolute crap shoot though. It's all bogus.
But there are flowers and birds singing from 6 am until 8 pm and a blue to the sky that has a depth and a volume to it
and we talk about time travel and other dimensions
I wonder what the sky looks like from the higher dimensions, if seeing along the length of time and space combined would muddy it or intensify
I wonder what an alien equivalent to picking flowers would be. It's all nonsense, of course, nonsensical I'm feeling quixotic and quizzical I want to rumble jumble words around I need to paint I may have an idea, I think it's time for pasta and some more fiddle.
I also would like to spend time with yous, my dears. because it's not like I'm intentionally idiosyncracising myself, I don't think that's necessary on any level.
hey hey whatcha doing? watching the trees grow and the ground swell and the earth sing.