I want to make you a sandwich. That was my recent thought but now I remember it wasn't my first. The first thought was eggs benedict. I want to make you eggs benedict. and mimosas. I dont know how to make the eggs benedict exactly but the internet does so that means i do too. I will bring the things in plastic grocery bags and i will put them on your counter and pull out the things and put them into the refrigerator and i will make Alexa play the music i want. The sun won't be all the way into the windows yet but there will be sun. The day will be noisy but I will tell Alexa, "Alexa, volume 8." and then Jim Croce will sing to an operator.
The other night, with heavy, cut-glass in my fist, I ate dinner with my eyes closed.
Today is my birthday but i dont care. I am just sad about it although everything in my drunken body tells me to be happy and embrace my age because if you dont age that means you have died. I am not dead. I am very alive. but still....
My age, when said out loud, is depressing. But not as depressing as it will sound one year from today...out loud or not. oh well. like i said...the alternative...
i got two amazing gifts and one lolthisismygift-gift, that i understand why the gift was given but in comparison to the other gifts and who gave them, makes it seem like an lol gift even thought it was a well intentioned gift. ( i dont keep 'points' for gifts but it's still funny given the other gifts)
i've been into this drink the last few weekends. cucumber vodka with fresh blended up watermelon and lime juice. too bad watermelon chunks dont really 'catch' in a blender. you sort of have to push them down with a ladle and hit the button. too bad …
I have the same fucking resolutions so tuck them in, pull the sheet up to that warm space under chin, kiss foreheads and take a mallet and wallop until you need to clean the walls.
I just want to be a better version of myself in 2018. I want to level up. I want to shed as much bullshit that does not serve me as possible. I want to put my money where my mouth is. I want to write another book. I want to sell a fucking book. I want to hit my Goodreads reading challenge for once. I want to eat all the unused gluten and buy recreational marijuana. I want to be what the picture of this lion is:
In an attempt to remember who I used to be, here are two poems.
You Are The Morning Quiet
Where there are pots and pans hands, you are not. The loud frightens. Its ugly, a thorn. Between the clangs and bangs your soft slips in. Your still, a reckoning of peace of home Brown flashes tendriled bright I wait for each one
High Hopes There is a shuffle in my heart it skips warm then chokes a snake mid eat on a thing it th…