the habit of being

One of the very nicest things in life is waking up with a start on a weekend thinking you have to get up and go somewhere, or maybe that you’re already late, and then realizing you can sleep for hours and hours if you want to. You can lay there happily and if you close your eyes it feels like your body is really hovering down a few inches beneath the surface of your mattress, which is the perfect temperature.

My cat, Franny, is prone to attacking my feet and biting me during the day, but at night she curls up next to me and will not move no matter how hard I try to persuade her that moving would be a good plan.

I love that. I’m a bit like that myself.

a portrait of yesterday, in 4 parts:

One.
Dramatically, I left my incompetent English teacher’s class (without even getting a hall pass!) upon hearing the news that my (competent) English teacher from last year was visiting the school to speak about her trip to Cuba. Mrs. Burke has muchly happy to see me. We hugged and walked quite slowly arm in arm back to my abandoned classroom. She loves me, like all good English teachers must.

All should be impressed with my walking out of class ever so rebelliously. I feel large. I didn’t at the time, I was too excited about seeing Mrs. Burke. I hadn’t since the end of last school year. She nominated me for GHP.

I have power. Muahahahaha.

Two.
Liquid nitrogen excites me. When a soft leaf is covered in it, it becomes brittle. It makes great pretend swamp gas. It breaks up into little beads like mercury. I must have a large jug for playtime/mad science (pinches Miriam’s cheek).

I was a nitrate ion today, by the way. Some evil sodium chloride kicked my ass and stole my silver. The nerve.

Three.
jenny: i think my nails grow very fast. someone just put nail polish on them maybe a week ago and i can already see such a nonpainted gap.
me: mine look horrible. i have a bloody spot where a hangnail used to be. right after i accidentally ripped the thing off i had to dip my hands in fixer. not cool. stingy stingy
jenny: shudder. i had two of those bloody spots but they’re finally healing.
me: you should write things for me. i’ll be your writing pimp.
jenny: write what?
me: beautiful things, of course
jenny: but what will you do with them?
me: read them
jenny: hm. ok. i thought as a pimp you would try to sell them unsuccessfully
me: no. i’ll just slap you around for not fulfilling my desires.
~
dear pimp:
updated my page just for you. now seriously going to bed.
goodnight,
word hooker

Four.
There are times I want you so badly I just quiver all over. It doesn’t fade, even now. So guilty. I can still feel the outlines of your body under my fingertips. I can’t be your theoretical best or a shirt on your back or a forever friend. We aren’t on the same page anymore. This slate will not be cleared, for all my affection. What will I do if we are never again together? What will I do if being together is not enough?