March
The things of the month
Fuck my itchy eyes and my scratchy neck. What is wrong with the itch inside ugh grim.
I like portraits.
I listen to The Police and a bit of Sting and I just sit in an armchair and think about that big summertime storm in Lussan, it was massive. We were having dinner on a hill in a house, la plancha, and the sky ripped open. Thunder is touch and contact and I get it. I would want to thunder too. If I don’t think about that I’ll think about being wronged and then grow angry and pathetic. It works for me.
He’s like if an acorn grew legs, I whisper under the covers on the phone 1AM on the phone with Olivia, plugged in and my head hurting already.
Stupid boys.
There’s lots of Italian disco songs I live in, they were big on the continent, so I’ve heard.
I saw you in the harbor. This is not true.
SOS. This is a very shallow The Police reference.
The last day of term has a certain glow to it. The sun comes out just to usher us out of college and remind us that, yes you do want to come back, you do want this.
Should I pierce myself? Would be a bit cool would be a bit painful though.
Showing up for class is rewarding in a masochistic way, gritty and good and hurts my eyes and my brain but if I sat in my bed in Old South I’d feel even stupider.
I got new glasses, they’ll be ready in a week. Putting my chin in the optometrists machine was a bit gross.
Oil is thick and permeating and absorbed and works it’s wonders on both skin and wood. Olive oil is a goddess’ gift and we might get one in our front garden. Maybe.
There’s a skirt I want. I want it bad. She sits like patience on a monument.
