LOVE.

can i tell you how good it feels to choose the thing we are discouraged from choosing?  can i tell you how good it feels to choose exactly that, which as females, we are told is selfish and bad and wrong?  god, are there even words?  is there a way to highlight this sweep of ecstasy, this central pleasure?  is there something i can compare it to?  the divinity of the first prime number?  the excellence of music?  the wholesome quality of that innocent moment when, as a child, you would lay yourself down across your mother's lap and she would lovingly scratch your back?  can i tell you, now, how good it feels to have chosen my Self?  to have spent these last 6 months looking only into my own eyes?  can i tell you how absolutely unlonely i am? 

there is no loneliness within me.  i long for nothing except to be an artist.  if i crave anything it is to be left alone with my work.  if i crave anything it is to wake, alone in my own bed, with my diary well within reach and a pen in my eager hand.  the voices i wait for are the voices of my best friends.  i lean in to their love and back away from the other expectations and exploitations of my faith, of my natural willingness to help and please. 

6 months.

and in a day and a half i will be on a plane to new york.


when i was 7 or 8 years old i had a poster of the NY city skyline all in silhouette.  it was pinned next to where i slept.  i would lay in the top bunk and gaze at the image and dream of a place i had never seen.  i will be 32 years old on september 3rd and i will see our great american city for the very first time a few days before that.  a life long dream is actually coming true. 

can i tell you how good it feels to live life exclusively on my own terms, making apologies to no one,  and void of the need to fashion excuses for a goddamn thing?

lovely.

what fun...

childhood memories are funny. i love hearing them. especially what people thought about the world when they were small.

this morning when i stepped outside a big fat drop of rain splatted on my cheek and it knocked a memory loose that totally explains how i became a RAIN HATER.

i stopped jumping in puddles and playing in the rain pretty early in life because, if you remember, in the mid to late 80s (i was born in 1980) all of a sudden every body got FANATICAL about ACID RAIN. and i was told about this in school. and i have NO CLUE why GROWN UPS thought it was a GOOD IDEA to tell LITTLE KIDS about ACID RAIN when the hot movie at the time was "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?", a movie that included the death of sweet little cartoons by way of THE DIP! THE DIP = ACID and then i go to school, sweet and shy and gullible and full of trust, and hear all about ACID falling out of the sky. and when i welled up the courage to raise my hand and ask if the rain could hurt me, my teacher responded "well... just don't get it in your eyes." AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! how stupid are you????? why would you say that to a little kid? hahahahahaha! so then i became afraid that the rain could BLIND ME. geez. this is worse than being told we're in the "Last Days" and Jesus will return any second so you'll never get to grow up and be an adult and get married and blah blah blah. that tid-bit is directly responsible for all sorts of kids having a strange breed of peter pan-ism because LAST DAYS = NO FUTURE. do people really forget what it's like to be a child???? how scary and weird and big the world seems? how confusing? and how magic is real? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???? hahahaha!

i'm laughing my ass off right now!

good morning. :)