inside—outside—inside—out. i grow irritated with the stagnant stillness of the inside air. too calm, i can all too plainly hear the disorganization of my thoughts. outside, the air is fluid, like the wind and i think like my thoughts, or at least disguising and distracting my thoughts enough to feel somewhat connected. but i’m chilled to the bone, growing impatient for warmth.
inside.
i eat every half hour, grazing like a goat. the fucking silence is louder than the wind in the trees. low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. fuck, give me a break. i think about carpe diem. i think about knowledge and wild passion and getting shit done.
i want to go to the symphony. in a dress, in heels. i want to read in the library. i want to read by the creek.
the holes in my sweater keep me inside. i am stubborn—put on a coat and suck it up. i am relatively easily offended and i hate that. i am a girl who used air quotes when calling herself a woman last week and what the hell is that about. 27 years old, how did i grow to see myself so small.
maybe this is sugar withdrawals. i’m trying to cut sugar out of my diet for all the health reasons but mostly because i hear it’s bad for my brain and for once in my life i actually care about the condition of that precious organ.
carpe diem. what does it even mean for me today. read my book in the cold? edit the wedding video that i’ve been putting off? write a letter to my mother, write a song, write a sentence i can believe in, form an opinion, eat another snack.
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