"Why can't you want something that makes sense?"
On this forgetfully warm day, I wore a t-shirt, a flannel over, and a thick pair of jeans. My regrets are seeping through, one drop of perspiration at a time. I feel better today. Not like yesterday when all I can think was jumping off the balcony, while biting the filter of my cigarette, shivering and shaking from the unexpectedly cool night and weight of my chest falling down my stomach. It was shit, but I'm glad today is different.
Tomorrow, Mikal will do work on head. Specifically my hair. I am both thrilled and anxious because I have had this hair growing for so long that I don't know if I know anything else. But I do know that I want this. I also know not to expect a miraculous shift from it. Maybe it'll be cathartic. Maybe I'll feel alright for the next few days.
But now my stomach is boiling. Must be something I ate. Three bowls of that something I ate.
I once convinced myself that I made up the word 'troubadour.' I don't know how I convinced myself that, but I repeated it to myself for periods of time as my way of ownership. Stupid.
I'm still awfully wasteful with money. And still too lazy to save everything I earn. Lush girl.
