Welcome To My Bed

Alonely.

Photobucket


I am hiding out in my room with a lamp that looks a lot like an umbrella.

James is in Springfield, so I am home writing music, unable to get through Walk the Line because I got a weird lyric stuck in my head and can't not write it down. And once I write it down, it turns into a whole bunch of lyrics, and then once that happens I jump on Garageband and simply must record. It's an awful vicious cycle. I am amused by it, but nothing will ever come from me fiddling around with voice recording and hand claps. I miss writing legitimate poetry. All these rhyming things are just silliness.

Recently I have realized that Gloria Naylor is really just a lesser version of Toni Morrison. It's sad that she admits it too.

I'm trying to figure out where I'm going to live next year when this little slice of wedded bliss changes shape, and around every corner I am stepping on toes. All I want is to keep sleeping on my mattress on the floor right in this room with my books and my James. Relationships make me so weird. I think I have a terrifying tendency to nest. But more importantly, when you live with your significant other, your love life turns into something scheduled. For example, sex happens at the most convenient time and loses its spontaneity, typically occurring between the nightly movie and the TV show we put on to fall asleep. That doesn't make it bad, not in the slightest, it just seems silly to have a schedule for certain things. Then there is the strangeness of being the same room but not interacting. We will be doing work and I always feel compelled to say something, but I know this must be annoying when he's trying to get anything accomplished. My mind wanders.

I need to have a yard sale. When it gets warmer out, I'm going to lay all the clothes I don't wear out on blankets in front of my house, and people will buy them, and then I will feel better about having so much stuff. Because it will have made me money.

Being bored in Massachusetts is nothing like being bored in New Jersey or New York. I miss my city. I haven't been there (except in passing) since...I don't even know when. My body aches because of it. The people here are too much like the cows here. They wouldn't know excitement if it beat them over the head. And I'm beginning to think I like the cows better.

I should do something exciting with my time, like bake bread.

Photobucket