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There is jazz that lingers on your jacket. Little notes that cling, like the chill in your veins.

notes that trickle off your fork and into an empty bowl. In the morning, you share the milk, but nothing else.

the unsettling shift in your chair will never go away. You’ll be reminded of it with each bite or with each shiver.

i’m not going to help you. Let me stew in my anger. Let me ride this out alone. As I break lead in pencils from pushing so hard to


enjoy. I prefer myself this way:

scrambled notes and skipping beats on a scratched 45


If the sun took a moment,

to hush itself and turn down the heat,

waiting for itself to darken, like a rotted peach

it would take eight minutes for any of us

to realize that life as we know it

would be snuffed out,

like a hot match between two wet fingertips.

Paint & Things

For the past few weeks, I’ve been playing around with watercolors. It’s a new medium for me- I’m an oil or acrylic type girl. The dainty uncertainness of this paint has always been lost on me, but I’m starting to love it more.

I had an idea in my head for what I wanted my little painting to look like (and it is little, I promise). Yet, during episode 1, season 2 of Santa Clarita Diet, this happened:
MurphIt’s slightly dark, with a hint of happiness I suppose. For those of you who are in the know, you’ll recognize this sketch of Murph- my husband painted a similar one of our dog, but with cold, leftover coffee.  The next one I’ll probably stick with what I love- circles and lines, with more blue/green watercolors. It’s just been really difficult for me to transmit what ideas are floating around in my brain onto actual paper.

My next project is for my creative arts class- I have to recreate a Jackson Pollock painting- or something “inspired” by him.  So basically, I should just smoke two packs of cigarettes, get wasted and dump paint all over a canvas while I’m in the garage listening to Hole.

Or something to that effect.

Which reminds me, I still have to write the paper to accompany that painting. Son of a…


I’m trying to delve into different art mediums lately to get myself out of a funk. Knitting isn’t cutting it right now and the projects I have started are still unfinished. Hell, I can’t even remember what line I left the Maple Leaf shawl on and currently, there’s a half knitted shawl that reminds me of tacos in the backseat of my car.

Doodling has helped me though. It keeps me sane and calms my anxiety.

More so than going to the gym.
But that’s not so bad.
My gym has a cardio room that: A) is in the dark and B) plays movies

I like the in the dark part. That way, when I go a little too hard on the treadmill, no one can see me cry.

I’m KIDDING. I have no shame in crying at the gym.