scrambled
A jumbled up collection of thoughts and feelings and happenings, because I’m lacking subtlety and grace, or permanency maybe, this week.
(If this is your first time here, please immediately go back and read the post before this, or the one before that. They’re much more impressive, I promise.)
There are so many words I don’t know. I feel like I should have this internal dictionary that’s open and available at all times, but I really just have no clue. Not a dictionary- a thesaurus. I had to look up officious today. It’s a gorgeous word to me, it weighs a hefty amount. But I had no idea before today! I worry I’ll be writing decades from now with the same vocabulary, the same voice, because I’m not well read enough, or because my memory is shit.
Memory is a great concern, because mine is faulty, it seems. In middle school, it felt like I spent half my life in a neurologist’s room, or with wires glued to my head. I’m twenty four now, and terrified of scheduling an appointment. I have a lot more hair now; I think the gunk would be harder to wash out.
I’m re-reading Babel, one of my favorite books, but I’m upset because it’s so brilliant, and I know it’ll hurt me all over again. So I’m avoiding opening it up- I kind of just hug it to my chest and pout a bit.
I’m writing this with a British accent in my head because I just binge watched Jenna Coleman’s new show, Wilderness. The show was fine. She was my favorite Companion on Doctor Who.
I had a dream the other night that was really quite strange. I dreamt I spent the entire day with my godmother. The day itself was a blur, but I felt joyous and light. I remember the end very clearly though- we were sitting in a food court at some mall, or maybe the one in Union Station. And I turned to her and asked what she wanted to do when she was older. Did she want to keep making music, or to go all in with acting? Did she want to open up a dance school? Did she want to do none of that, and just have us drop our kids off in the morning so she could be with them all day? And as I was saying all this I started crying, because I knew, I remembered, and she wouldn’t respond, she just smiled in this patient, considerate way that I hated, I really did. I blinked once, just once I swear, and she was gone. I felt this great pressure on my left hand, firm and insistent, and she held on until she was sure I was awake. I stared up at my ceiling, my heart racing, gasping for air.
I think if I could put my hair up in a claw clip, it’d be over for ya’ll.
I start this new job on Monday. I can’t wait to have money again.
Someone introduced me to the Cinnamon Coffee Cake Muffins from Trader Joe’s and I’m obsessed, it’s an addiction.
I am greatly concerned about the impact these muffins will have on my blood test this week. Who cares about cholesterol anyway? It’s as fake as money is!
Why don’t we talk about Crazy Frog more. What was that? A bop, unfortunately.
