So, I've officially decided that I'm going to join the circus. I can't grow a beard and I can't juggle and I'm not flexible enough to do the splits, but maybe I can help train the bears to ride bicycles.

Or maybe I'll just go sit under the bridge in the arboretum and write poems like I used to.

One thing is for sure, I'm gonna force myself back into blissful ignorance. Because...people are terrible and they don't deserve me! Fuck the world! Hare FUCKING krishna!

It's been such a strange morning....

edit: i'm watching my roommate do a ridiculous kickboxing DVD in the living room and it's making me laugh, which is cheering me up. my dad came up and bought me indian food. i get to go sleep in my boyfriend's bed, even though he won't be home til late, and the thought of already being in bed, warm and comfy, when he comes home and crawls in next to me makes my heart extremely glad.

how can i be angry at the terrible people in the world when i'm surrounded by so much love?

i keep expecting things to happen that are impossible. staring up at the big glass building, watching the night overtake the day. i still count windows and remember pacing, patient. the bench on the hill with the moon overwhelming and observant. the hours and secrets and amazement. i was a student from berlin. everything was remarkable and new and we were continually shocked by the ease of it all. i keep expecting knowing that doors are shut and locked, and no amount of knocking will bring familiar sounds back. still, there are places i cannot go. this is not one of them, this favorite spot, looking up at the big glass building through curls of smoke and waiting, crossing fingers, pacing, patient.

i am an addict and i am broken and yes, this will kill me one day.

"i don't look at myself in the mirror because i'm a narcissist,

i just like to watch myself exist."

sometimes i don't know what to do and i make a lot of mistakes. i'm too eager, i say awkward things that make people feel uncomfortable, i wear nightgowns as dresses and hope that no one notices. i'm poor but i'm full. i see beauty in everything, i want to join the circus. i pretend to understand music and have perfected the act of feigning interest in things that could potentially interest me, but are way too over my head. i don't own that many pairs of shoes, but i wish i did. sometimes i feel like a newborn horse, all knees and wobbly ankles, and sometimes i feel like a statue carved out of marble and unmovable. i like to quote books in conversation and wait for someone to call me out so that we can discuss my favorite authors and for once, i can look like i know what i'm doing. i pretend a lot. i talk to myself. i make plans and lists and then never go through with them. i have big dreams but empty pockets so i let myself be content just riding bikes. i get lost easily. sometimes i still confuse my right from my left. i'm a terrible driver and hate being reminded of the fact. all i need in life is someone to let me talk without guarding my words, which usually means saying a lot of stupid shit, but the right person will love my mouth despite all the weird crap i say, and that's what i'm looking for. i hate censorship. i dream about inspiring a nation of disillusioned youth. i have planned my first day in the classroom already. i know what i will say, and what i will wear, and in my head the students love me and see me as inspiring even after the first hour. i think very highly of myself some days, and others, i think i'm worthless. i love antique jewelry but never wear jewelry. most of my clothes i bought at a thrift store. sometimes, i steal things. i have an extremely overactive imagination. my favorite fruit is pineapple and i think it goes well with anything. mess stresses me out, but if your house is messy, i won't say anything, as it is none of my business. when i'm depressed, i reread angela's ashes, which usually makes me more depressed but happy at the same time. sometimes my chest hurts and i can't explain it. i'm somewhat of a hypochondriac. i don't eat a lot. i really love to read my poetry to people and get their honest opinions. if i ask you to hear what i've written, it means i trust you, and that is a Very Good Thing. i don't trust easily. i miss my cats more than i miss my parents. i feel like a child trapped in a body too big for me. i like holding hands and being kissed on the cheek.

i love really, really hard.

give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

it's good enough for me

this is music for a porch life and sunsets and

the sting of metal

and the way your lips tasted chalky after you ate

your words before i had a chance to read them

this is music

in the way the birds exploded from

the mountainside after you fired your gun

for no reason

just to show how strong you could be

(i remained unimpressed)

it was good enough for my grandpa

and it's good enough for me

he used to live the porch life

until his shaking hands broke the needle

so the only songs he had were the

dead dear moans

it had been caught by the bullet and when

it staggered on to our lawn

i could have cried

do you feel strong now? do you feel strong now?

it was good enough for billy burroughs

and it's good enough for me

i read you bad

stream of consciousness prose

while you played the blues scale in E

missing half the notes

this is music for our porch life

self referential and b r o k e n

we started to find difficulty

in finding our veins

so we just drank gasoline instead

it was good enough for isabelle eberhardt

and it's good enough for me

it was the rain that

came up from the ocean that drove us inside

abandoning the corpses already

floating in the yard

you took your guitar and i

took my book of poems and we

burnt our wicker rockers in the middle of the room

i wore my dress long to hide my knees

like the bird bones hidden in my fist

you had a hat, it seemed

unnecessarily formal

the only music was the

cracking of the fire and the

water on the porch, rising to cover our necks

we were patient

waiting for the record to finish

give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

it's good enough for me

i want to cry, i'm so frustrated. i'm home no more than a few hours ever day, i rarely ever sleep at my own apartment, and yet i'm the one who is forced to deal with the constant mess left by the roommates. and then - and THEN - i leave a plate with a little bit of food on it in the (already overflowing) sink and one has the gall to call me over and point at it, saying, "not cool, ashleigh, not cool."

the eggshells and crumbs on the counter aren't cool. the fact that they haven't vacuumed since we moved in isn't cool. the fact that there is garbage on the floor in the living room and a stack of recycling that reaches my waist in the dining room isn't cool.

fuck this place. i'm just so painfullt grateful that i have a boyfriend's house to retreat to, a bigger bed to sleep in, someone to tell me that it's going to be ok.

this year is going to make me crazy.

i have listened to this song every day, multiple times a day for a good 3 weeks now. something about the lyrics coupled with the delivery just hits me every time. i'm beginning to winder when it's going to get old, though, because i've never stuck with a song for this long before.

sage francis - sea lion

The force of my love was strong.

The sea lion lay down long.

Song in the air. Why should singer care?

When singer can be among song.

Ma, Ma--look what i did, Ma. Look what i did to my hands, I broke 'em.

You gave me the stone, gave me the chisel, didn't say how to hold 'em.

Didn't say to give away every piece of the puzzle 'til i was left with nothin'.

But i took it upon myself to crush it up and distribute the dust.

Get in the bus. Hop in the van. Jump in the water. Crawl to the land.

Build another castle out of sand. Break it down and then get into the saddle again.

I'm going city to city - i'm already lost. Tell the boss who is new in town.

I'll ride this horse 'til it it bucks me off and i'm forced to shoot it down.

I'll take him out for some gasoline. Trade this cow for some magic beans.

Gonna make mom proud of the deals that I made, 'cause I'm just a modern day Johnny Appleseed

But i'm glad that I never passed the genes, and I never put down the axe.

Piano man got a checkered dance floor to grace and a painful look on his face.

'Cause the crowd is packed and the louder they clap

the less he is able to make the connection between what he sees

when he hears certain notes and the hurt that is shown in his facial expression. Ahhhhhh.

I don't need your "go ahead" to go ahead. No, I know no one said it was gonna be easy,

but sweet jesus who wants to sleep with me?

Way too many moves to learn. Not enough people to put 'em on.

Look it, mom! No hands. I built this suit of armor with wooden arms.

The force of my love was strong.

The sea lion lay down long.

Song in the air. Why should singer care?

When singer can be among song.

my birthday is coming up soon! only 14 more days until i turn the big 2-0, out of the land of ages ending in "teen" and entering into the world of the Grown Up.

so naturally, i'm going to bake cupcakes and wear a party hat. because i'm so adult.

if any one is curious and loves me and wants to buy me a present, i am currently lusting after this necklace from foundandmade on Etsy:

isn't he beautiful? this girl takes found and antique charms and turns them into quaint little pieces of artwork! check it here.

other than that, i'm thinking i'm going to have a potluck at jordan's house and invite a few lovely people to share beer and good food with. maybe we can play scrabble. maybe we can sing songs. most likely, we'll just bullshit...but those are the best kinds of evenings anyways.