If I came to the coast for a week, what would we do? :)

If I came to the coast for a week, what would we do? :)

Answer here

And so.

It ends.

Time to put this blog to rest.

I'm starting a new one.

Thanks for reading, those of you who did.

September 2nd.

Happy.

Happy happy happy.

Life is good. And I guess that's it. What else can I say?

August 18th.

Trouble.

Listening to: Fly - Nick Drake.
Mood: Quite average.

I'm just salting the wound. I think.

I get the feeling people are mad at me for no reason. I don't know who feels what about me anymore. Then again I don't know what I feel about everyone else.

But aside from that, I've had a good day. A good day! A good week, actually!

(Yes, I know! I'm surprised too! I know as well as you do that this blog is usually filled with my mundane whining and cryptic, emotional...stuff.)

The only down point was the terribly depressing dream I had last night.

Who cares, though? I've had a good day full of peppermint tea and Harold and Maude and my cat and talking to people I love.

(And now Pleasantville is on tv, squee!)

Maybe I'm changing.

This is good. This is very good.

Also, by the way, I have red hair now. Huzzah.

August 8th - II.

Scratchy.

Listening to: Street Spirit (Fade Out) - Radiohead.
Mood: Angry.

I wish I could just keep things between me and another person. But no, everyone's always talking, everyone needs to know everything.
They never consider how I might feel on the subject.

Get out of the fucking water. Now. Beach is closed. Everything's closed. I'm closed. Good job.

Scratchy doesn't hurt as much as he used to. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.
Scratch away, little one.

She's screaming at me now and I can't shut her up and this is one of those times I wish she'd just go away, but I might have to live with her for the rest of my life, you know? I don't want to. But I have to. You're lucky. Would you like me to scream in your ear? It's what I certainly feel like doing.

August 8th.

Petits pas.

Listening to: Idioteque - Amanda Palmer.
Mood: Scared.

Sometimes the simple act of breathing can be so difficult.
Something we've known how to do our whole lives, we suddenly forget.

That is how I feel tonight.

But luckily I've got friends and water and movie quotes and giggling to distract me.

"Don't have sex, because you will get pregnant and die! Don't have sex in the missionary position, don't have sex standing up, just don't do it, OK, promise? OK, now everybody take some rubbers."

I just need to take little steps.

More French tomorrow, at least I have that to look forward to. And seeing Erin on Tuesday.
I wish time would go faster.

I wonder how you're feeling right now, seeing me like this. I wonder if you're sick of drowning yet.

July 25th - No more dreaming.

I'm running my fingertips over the blades of grass as I lie in the backyard. Eyes closed, the sun warm on my face. You're sitting nearby, fiddling with a piece of rope.

"Strong enough?" you ask, as I sit up and you hand it to me.

I wind it around in my hands, pulling at it, picking at loose threads while you curl into a ball and watch.

"Maybe. Couldn't hurt to try." I drop the rope on the lawn. You're shaking your hair into your eyes again. I start to lean towards you, to brush it out, but you tumble backwards. You crawl across the grass towards the trees, and before I know what's happening, you're sitting in the branches again, pushing at the tyre swing with your bare toes.

"Don't wanna be here with me, do you?"

How can I even answer that question?

"I don't know, Sa-"

You're climbing higher into the branches now. I can hear you sniffling. Why are you so agile in here?

Why am I in here at all?

I start to run back towards the house. I trip and fall.

The jolt wakes me up.