In the dream before yesterday, I lost a tennis shoe to the sea that swept cities away. I was standing aloft the porch to four apartments. Inside each door was a little man pining away on a tiny metal bed or little wooden chair, their plastic hearts and glass eyes creaked with the wind. I was standing there when the sea carried my tennis shoe away. It floated on across the flooded landscape until I could see it no more. I remember it being blue as cerulean paint. It's been a week without an iPod and liFE is a-ok. I think if we learn to tune our ears to humanity, we might learn more than we ever could have from chan marshall mathers. It's been like spring these winter days, and while taking a walk yesterday (without my ears plugged up), I started singing as if I had a range of vocal abilities. The point is, these days, there is too much going in and not enough coming out. There's reading, listening, watching, holing... and writing in itself, perhaps, is a way of basking, wallowing. It's the most indulgent "outage" for me. To excise, on the other hand, is to sing, to speak, to scream. To use ! instead of ... To love and hate instead of meditate and hesitate.
I wish I could write less dramatically.
Dr. T said the other day she threw out a journal from the college days. I look forward to the day when I can chunk out the girl I am now.