bye my beagle

i got my first dog as a christmas present my freshman year of highschool, after at least 5 years of "can i pleeeeease have a dog dad." they gave him to me in a basket and he fell asleep in my lap. i named him dawson, because i thought that the guy with the creek had a nice name for a dog. he had the sweetest face and when he'd wag his tail the whole back half of his body wiggled in sync. he ate my cell phone once and my dad's glasses another time, and i think he ate at least 3 remote controls for various tv's, but he had the kind of eyes that always said "i love you so much and i can't help that i'm a dog" that no one stayed mad at him and we bought new cell phones and glasses and kept loving the dog. he also had a gallbladder that clogged and a liver that failed. he died this morning.

i can't believe how much it hurts to lose my only friend who could never talk to me, except when i realize that he was my only friend who ever loved me unconditionally.

when we tucked him in at night (and we always tucked in the dog--he wouldn't go to sleep otherwise), we'd talk to him like a baby. "go sleepy night-night." my mom started that. go sleepy night-night, dawson.

some things that i've discovered over the past week:

1. i can make a badass cheesecake if i want to. graham cracker crust and everything. it's the type of dessert that makes grown-ass men swoon, and i like that.

2. i am easily one of the most stubborn humans. but i guess i'd already explored that facet of myself. as heather and i have discussed, i make bad decisions and stick with them. that, or i insist on doing everything on my own no matter what. (read: if i can't fit the giant ikea box inside my car, why don't i strap it to the outside? makes perfect sense. that's what twine is for.)

3. people (like my dad) need to leave me the hell alone about what i'm doing with my life. i'm not grossly fucking anything up, so you should be proud. i'm happy right now and i'll go to grad school whenever and IF ever i fucking well feel like it. sing it, bon jovi: it's my life.

4. i'm dating someone amazing. it remains strange and exciting.

5. i am really lucky.

one of the nicest things i think i've ever heard:

"if you made me a mixtape, i'd go out and buy a walkman."

in memoriam

6 years after the idea first got stuck in my brain, i finally did it:

it's perfect and i can't stop staring at it yet. i woke up this morning and saw it and got excited all over again. thank you to daniel, my artist, on account of you did a fantastic job.

this past weekend was really strange and amazing. if it weren't for these new bruises and letters on my body, i seriously think i'd be convinced that i dreamt the whole thing. either way, it's monday and i have to go to work in 20 minutes and i feel oddly terrific given the immediate circumstances. holy shit i think i might even be happy.

a sound like someone trying not to make a sound

for the first time in a good little while, things seem to be coming up milhouse. despite the occasional booze-fueled rant at the bar or mild panic attack provoked by the dipshit parade that files through the coffee shop in ever increasing numbers as the weather gets warmer, for the most part i'm feelin' fine. i have new hair, a new house, a new bike, the beginnings of a new body, (hopefully) a new tattoo, and a better fucking attitude (for the most part) than i've had for the majority of this last year.

but naturally, something has to rise up and kick me in the ass. once again, my brain is conspiring against me. this time, it's jacked my circadian rhythm into something unprecedented that makes no sense. every goddamn morning, no matter how late i go to sleep, every single fucking morning i wake up at 7. now i get that this isn't a big deal for a lot of people, like you commuting 9to5ers that probably have to be up and at 'em by 6, or even my coworkers at the coffee shop who are starting the workday at 7, but shit, my day starts at 3 pm. generally i go to bed around 3 or 4. so this (in case the skills of basic math escape you) amounts to approximately 3-4 hours of fitful sleep a night. yeah, it'd be different if i slept soundly during those hours, but instead i get that kind of sleep that's peppered with really vivid dreams so that when you wake up you feel like you've been awake having bizarre adventures the entire time anyway.

so sarah, you might say, why don't you try not going to sleep at 4 in the morning? to which i say to you, fuck you, i'm an adult and i'll stay up past my bedtime and eat ice cream for breakfast if i want. also, i've tried. oh, how i've tried. but the 4-hour rule is suspended in time, doomed to enact itself no matter where i start the timer. if i try to be a grownup and go to bed at midnight, i will inevitably wake up at 4 with no hopes of getting back to sleep and lots of pointless myspacing and ceiling-staring until the sun comes up.

i realize none of you give a shit. i'm writing this because i'm cranky. i haven't gotten a good night's sleep in like 3 weeks and i'm pissed and i'm going to complain so take that, internets.

self-propelled summer: part 2

i am absolutely delighted to present to you (and by you i mean taylor, who i think is the only person who reads this) my new best friend:

it's basically the hottest thing i've ever owned, and it's undoubtedly the best bike i've ever had (i'm really, really sorry, spalding blade, but we both secretly knew you were a rusted steel safety hazard). i keep pointing it out to people who i'm sure couldn't give less of a shit and making them humor me. i can't help being giddy. i fucking love my bike. also, nothing beats the novelty of a brand new toy, even when yr 23.

addendum: i completely forgot to thank the devastatingly charming & handsome bike shop manager who introduced me and my new love. yr terrific, dre.

god bless you, mr. vonnegut

so it goes.

thanks for all that.