a timely farewell to january

you have, habitually, been the worst month. you have, habitually, decided to take everything that makes sense to me and rip it away. always, you take the things that make so much sense to me that i don't even consider life without them until you fuck them up, like the collected demeanor of my mother or the invaluable trust of my best friend or the range of motion in my dominant arm or the casual stability of having someone i think gets what i'm about or my perception of myself. don't think you can win me over with yr exceptional weather, either. i'm done with you, january.

i'm anxious for february. last year, it was pleasantly peculiar. i want it again this year. i want to have no expectations and have them surpassed times 10. but i guess that won't work; wanting to have no expectations is inherently an expectation i suppose. so i guess this is when i stop thinking and amplify the drinking and hope that i wake up with everything in order. by the summer, i'd like to do the same thing i did last year; i want to take stock of everything in my life and smile because i'm fucking happy. i want to be a college graduate with shit moderately figured out.

then, i'd like to write a post where i'm not cranky.

i quit.

sometimes when it rains, it pours, and you can't even hold an umbrella with yr right hand.

i'm so tired. being positive can eat a dick.

hot sex on heels

my feet stick to the kitchen floor, i'm dizzy, and i'm still wearing pajama pants at 2:30 pm. yep, post-stafford ave-party day. welcome back to school, motherfuckers, where this bitch will go drink for drink and mix it with painkillers. WHAT! how you gonna act?

(o jesus)

i don't feel like myself these days. it's been almost a month since my surgery and i know i should really be able to get over the wedge and the soreness and the fuzzy drug-brains and i'm trying but i still feel tilted and off-balance. physical ailments wreck mental perceptions, i'm convinced. but last night was nice and normal, with the faces that keep me steadied and the booze that keeps me social. i put on a hot outfit and high heels and earrings and almost forgot all about the wedge. it felt less like an unsightly tumor and more like a slightly awkward accessory.

so back to school, back to normal. beer pong until 4 am, cans and cups in the living room, hot pockets in the freezer, and some new pens. pretty good.

i write poetry with one hand medically stabilized.

When I Started Sleeping On My Left Side

Crushed sentiments and inhibitions
like cans in the sink, I took down my hair
in the dark and laid my glasses beside
your anonymous bed. I woke up addicted
to cigarettes again and left to breathe
in the cusp of spring.

I nursed an excited knot of butterflies
that still stirs at smiles from the other
side of the pillow and bicycle tires
in the gravel of my driveway.

[i guess you know that this is for you. so now someone's written about you. welcome to literary immortality, champ.]

shotgunwedding secretly shows emotion

i know i can do this. i've pulled through worse bullshit than this and always emerged better for it.

so maybe i fell in love. maybe i think he's wonderful.
now i just need to be able to love him enough to let go.

jesus. really didn't see this coming out of that drunken night last february.