all sorts of fucked up

toda-err-yesterday felt all sorts of fucked up.  waking up at 3:45AM didn’t help.  i had an awesome dream about kittens and game shows. i woke up feeling the residual happy warm feeling that goes hand-in-hand with kitten dreams only to have it dissipate into this odd panic.  my brain started to go into overdrive, predicting that certain change was on the horizon, lots of life stuff in flux, without any specifics, i do what i do best.  worry about things outside of my control.  i hate it when i get all fortune telly and weird.  too much fleetwood mac and rain and before you know it i’ve got a crystal ball, a tattered shawl and too much make up.  yeah, i don’t know either.  this shit comes of nowhere.

thunder only happens when it’s raining.

no shit.  you don’t say stevie nicks.

(but really, i love that song.  i totally do.)

i pulled out the journal and saw that the last time i had written in it was while the dr. and i were in SLO.  i remembered that time fondly.  before the business of nanowrimo and the holidays.  before i actually started to let myself worry about job and money.  it felt good to be free of normal life stuffs while holding the hand of the boy that i love.  why does it feel so silly sometimes to write about it?  love.  why are there times when it makes me feel sheepish and weird? where i want to keep it to myself lest i seem cheesy or ridiculous or one-of-those-people. you know those people.

i like keeping things quietly awesome.  awesome doesn’t need to be loud or flashy.  awesome doesn’t have to be obnoxious and in your face.  awesome can exist in those rare moments, those times that you realize that it doesn’t matter if it’s the 7th or the 700th time you’ve stood at his door and rung his doorbell, your heart beats so loudly in your throat that you think you’re going to throw it up you’re so excited to see him and tell him whatever mundane thing it is you’ve done that day. i fought with my cat.  i took a shit. i went to work.  i made a pie. and he’ll follow behind you, up the stairs and you know that he’s looking at your butt and you like it, every last bit of it.

who knew going up a set of stairs could be so exciting?

i flipped back several pages and read more, went backwards in time through our relationship. i used to chronicle in such detail but i see that i’ve started easing up in my old age.  less we-went-here-and-ate-this and-saw-these-people and more this is how we play and this is how i feel.

i read back through glorious lazy days spent in the park and random drunk nights and many many many naps.  more naps then i can handle.  and some rogue illnesses.

when i got to the beginning i flipped the pages to the empty spot i had originally opened the journal to and started writing.

the sun didn’t really come up, my window just got bright and the rains that have been coming down lately continued to come down.

i didn’t stop writing until the rain actually stopped and i was starving.

i didn’t mean to take that nap around 5PM but it happened and after yoga i made cupcakes, ate said cupcakes right out of the oven despite the fact they were burning my fingerprints clear off and watched more of season 4 of dr. who.

it’s almost 1 and i’m wide awake and normally that wouldn’t matter but work looms in front of me.  blinky sleeps all day and manages to pass out at night.  i’m watching her sleep now.  she has restless leg syndrome.  or epilepsy.  i occasionally catch her stretching out one of her back legs and shaking it all over the place.  she doesn’t bother to wake up while this happens.  i wonder if she dreams about kitten game shows too.

life happens, work tomorrow.  i’ll wake up, eat some things, drink some things, accomplish a random assortment of tasks, read an assortment of words on screens, maybe i’ll make it to yin yoga, maybe i won’t.  whatever change my subconscious thinks is on the horizon will either be true or false or maybe forgotten about completely.  who can be responsible for the weird things that happen to you at 3AM?

which is only two hours away right now.

right.  bed.

g’night.

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