(no subject)
Doing taxes makes me want to be very passive aggressive. Like, more than usual. There are so many opportunities for mischief! Mischief that can only end badly! But really, if I write the federal government a check for the silly amount of money I owe them, and write something arsey in the “for” field like ‘the global gag rule’ or ‘HR 847,’ do we really think they won’t cash my check? Come now.
My life feels very full right now, but not in a gridlock sort of a way, more like the surface of water with lots and lots of ripples on it - there are isolated events which drop into the blank space-time surface of my life, and reverberate for a long time after they are done. I like it.
Katherine just sent me an email reading “I am sitting near you in the library. You are making funny faces. Love.” What a great email. I sent a not great email to my parents just now. I may or may not have taken out my frustration with being saddled with conflicting tax information the day my returns are due by telling them off about their entire lawyerly-belligerent relationship and mode of existing within the world, and how they’re slowing killing Mariah’s soul? Yes, it may have been overkill. No, I don’t really feel too bad about it. I also wrote it like bad poetry, with emotive line breaks and selective capitalization. Just to remind them what they’re paying all that education money for.
There is half of a very small lasagna in my fridge. It does not cease to make me happy, even a little bit. Dinner parties make me feel like an adult, and it is grand. I want a life full of ritual and tradition of my own devise. Also, full of pretty girls and late nights and lots and lots of poetry.
My life feels very full right now, but not in a gridlock sort of a way, more like the surface of water with lots and lots of ripples on it - there are isolated events which drop into the blank space-time surface of my life, and reverberate for a long time after they are done. I like it.
Katherine just sent me an email reading “I am sitting near you in the library. You are making funny faces. Love.” What a great email. I sent a not great email to my parents just now. I may or may not have taken out my frustration with being saddled with conflicting tax information the day my returns are due by telling them off about their entire lawyerly-belligerent relationship and mode of existing within the world, and how they’re slowing killing Mariah’s soul? Yes, it may have been overkill. No, I don’t really feel too bad about it. I also wrote it like bad poetry, with emotive line breaks and selective capitalization. Just to remind them what they’re paying all that education money for.
There is half of a very small lasagna in my fridge. It does not cease to make me happy, even a little bit. Dinner parties make me feel like an adult, and it is grand. I want a life full of ritual and tradition of my own devise. Also, full of pretty girls and late nights and lots and lots of poetry.