BLAG! WRITING!

I was first! Mwahaha.

I spent all this break playing Pokemon.
It may or may not be a problem.

Yesterday, I went into Philly with my aunt for the Philadelphia Writing Project in which my short story won an honorable mention. I was proud, until I found out that a particular story from our class also won an honorable mention, and it was some of the worst writing I'd ever read. After that, I was just glad to be in Philadelphia on such an unbelievably gorgeous day. I finally got to see the trees in the Kimmel Center. Ever since it opened, I've been really excited to go up there. Some night, I'll go back and look out at the city. There were beached whales on the streets. An artist put them there. I got new records!! Wooden Shoe books moved next to Repo Records. I would like to volunteer there and read and read for hours, until I go over to the record store and maybe the thrift store. I could be the hippest hipster in Philly, if only I had the dedication to seriously listen to indie music and find it while it's still indie.

The voice of the man from Iron & Wine sometimes sounds like finally getting to sleep in clean sheets, warm and solidly soft. Other times it's lighter, like things could pass through it.

Standing in front of my mirror, putting my hair up for Easter Sunday with grandmom, I had pulled my hair into the perfect half ponytail. BUT! I didn't have a hair tie! My new package sat on the dresser taunting. With all rage and uncivilized gnashing, I tore opening the packaging with my teeth, a beast-woman in command of all objects within my flailing thrashes. Satisfied by the paper killed dead, I put my hair up into a very lovely arrangement and realized my yellow and pink combination had me dressed up very similarly to a dyed and hidden egg of such celebration.

I had a beautiful dream that everyone I'd ever known was in my backyard, looking for buttons in the grass like an easter egg hunt and I could almost fly, like if I'd spent more time trying for lift off instead of looking for pins, that I may've started falling the wrong way. Later, after the dusky hunt was over, I retired to my bed with a friend, and we spoke and it was twenty of midnight until his dad said that he could stay out late, and Apologize kept playing snippets as I leant over my dresser and I was didn't have any clothes on, but it was okay, because it was just us and what is a person but a person. I don't remember waking up or how it ended, but I guess most dreams don't really end cleanly.

Stasi, thank you. I'll tell you in real words soon. Welcome home.

I'm going to tear up all the letters I wrote. They're no good for Jeff or for anyone. I've been writing some poetry, just a little bit. Thinking poetically and sometimes writing it down, maybe.

We are white trash, and our legs are tired from walking up apartment stairs. I dress like it's summer so that the boys will notice when I'm leaning backwards and raising my arms to shut the tall tall trunk of the car. The cars all slow down, but I think I'll have to mention that's because of the speed bumps.