Blinky is unreasonably cuddly and I’ve grown accustomed to her crawling all over me at night. She perches on my hip when I go fetal and she sleeps on top of my chest when I lie on my back. She makes sure that I am aware of her presence throughout the duration of the night. Sometimes I am ungrateful and try to remove her to a remote location on the bed. Sometimes I feel suffocated by her need to be on top of me. Sometimes when she yawns close to my face I smell the sea.

I lie in bed listening to the notwist and drift in and out of sleep, waiting for dreams to come, wondering if I’ll remember them in the morning. I pointed out to the dr. that I tend to remember dreams more often when I wake up next to him. We take turns waking up and relaying to each other what happens in our brains. He noted that this probably helps with the remembering. When I dream alone my dreams lose substance with each waking moment.

Sometimes when we lie in bed at night together we talk about what we think about when we are lying in our own beds alone. Sometimes I am paralyzed with fear that I am not relaying what is happening in my brain leaving these thoughts and feelings to lose substance as they remain unspoken. I remind myself to not be afraid and to say what I feel when I feel it so they can live outside of myself and grow on their own without my worrisome coddling.

I turned 33 this past Sunday. On Saturday I spent time with friends and the like. I cooked for them, drank with them and felt great loving them unabashedly. On my actual birthday I spent most of the day napping in the comfort of the dr.’s home. I had face planted into the bed after a cold shower, recovering from sitting outside on an oddly sunny July day in Dolores Park. Before I knew it, I was snoring. It was hard not to pass out. I find it easy to drift off in places I find safe.

When I finally awoke, we discussed the logistics of food, a topic that often stumps us as we’re always open to whatever. We decided to make dinner. I chopped fruit for a salad while the dear dr. made the meal. While I inhaled my bowl of pasta, I found myself wanting to explain what was going on in my brain, the way my heart unravels when he is near me, searching for words of higher wealth, a different language, but nothing matched what I felt so I said the usual things that people say. I said ‘thank you’. I said ‘you’re awesome’. I curled up into the warm place next to him. I relish the quiet times and try not to worry so much about explaining myself or losing substance.

Tonight, while I’m waiting for dough to rise, I’m rebuilding my callouses.

‘Grace Cathedral Hill’ – Verse:G-Em-C-D-D7 – Chorus:C-G-Em-C-G-Em-C-Cm-D-D7-C-D-G-Em-C-Cm


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July 2009
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  • RT @skstock: We need to stop glamorizing working at 150%. That extra 50% is a loan from your future self. Eventually you’ll need to collect… 3 days ago



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