Ugh!

What the fucks a girl gotta do?!

Pull up a chair

Ikea can be a scary place for new couples.

It's like the first test of finding out if your lifestyles, home decor tastes, and goals for your future family and living situations really match up.

It's like a dress rehearsal to "playing house."

As we walked through the office section you stopped me and pointed to a chair on the wall. It was a round swivel chair with white fabric, and birds and leaves printed across it with orange petals going through. It was a chair that had caught my eye before, as I was generally attracted to indie style bird designs and anything orange. [above my dresser rests a gorgeous canvas of a silhouette of a bird against a sunset- the oranges, blues, and sages popping out from behind the black]

"I wanted to get you that for Christmas before I found your pea coat."

"aw really? But I love my pea coat "

"I know. But I remember you saying you wanted a chair for your room so you can sit in it and play guitar. I looked all over at antique stores and other places to try to find you the perfect guitar chair. I saw this one and immediately thought of you"

I was shocked. Speechless in fact. I had remembered mentioning to you that I wanted a chair to play guitar in- but hadn't considered the idea that you would have really understood what it meant to me. It would have been something that was mine. Something therapeutic, a place for me to be creative and play my soul out. I had not even thought that in bringing it up that you'd ever think twice about it, that you could possibly understand it's significance.

But you imagined me playing my guitar in that chair. And in that second I imagined myself in that chair too, strumming, happy, thinking about you.

It's thoughts like these that count. And moments like these that I'll never forget.

My theory isn't perfect, but it's close

Can you hear my thoughts?

I think you can.

Lonely as I am, Together we cry

Sometimes I just feel so undesired.


Everything is perfect, why can't I just be as happy as I pretend to be?

i don't ever wanna go to bed.
please stay up for the fight.
the champ goes down like a clown in the second round .
i wish we'd had a bed he could lie.

lie to all your friends.

This is a new thing. I thought it was going to be easier than this. I guess I'm just losing my touch.

my head is lit.
i don't ever wanna go to bed.
your hair is on fire .
you snuff the blaze, turn to vapor, then you float away.

Adrenalin Junkie

Sometimes when I'm driving over a bridge or overpass, I like to imagine myself swerving off to the side and driving through the concrete walls suspending myself into thin air until I hit what was waiting for me below.

Please do not misunderstand me, it's not that I want to crash my car and die. But I want the feeling of falling, just me and my trusty road companion, it's steering wheel gripping my palms, the tires spinning aimlessly through nothing.


I sometimes wonder how fast I'd have to drive to make it through those walls. Would 70mph make a clean break? 75 maybe?



I want to pause mid-air, rewind, and drive through the walls again. I want to go over and over again until I stopped feeling my stomach drop. Again and again until my breath slowed down, my muscles relaxed. Again until the adrenalin runs dry.

A place to hang my coat

This is how I stay sane. Everyone needs a coat rack by their doorway, a place to hang their troubles before they walk through the door. I place to put every ounce of negativity that they have felt from work, school, outside life...in order to enjoy the good things that are waiting at home for them.

This is my coat rack. Don't judge me by it. It drips with disdain and every word gets darker with each tap of the keys.

It's 1:25am. I just got home. Rewind to 1:20 when I was driving on 80 headed towards Jefferson and passed the I-5 exit to Redding. Rewind to 1:19 when I thought about taking the I-5 to your place. Rewind to the three seconds before that debate, where the slightly buzzed version of myself realized that at 1am, after a long day and a beer, all I want is to be shirtless and laying next to you.

Rewind to 1:21 when I told myself what an idiot I am for being so addicted- so madly in love with you, when you do not feel the same way.


I know I jump the gun. I make irrational decisions and bold moves. But it kills me to see you every day and not be able to tell you how much I love you. A secret like that eats away at your soul. So I broke loose just to be free. And now my confession has put me in a dark room alone.

And now I dont know what hurts more- not being able to tell you every day that I love you because it might make you uncomfortable- or knowing that even if I did say it, you still wouldn't say it back.

Its 1:37. And I've said enough. Time to hang my coat up on the rack.

Temporarily passify the hunger

I'm hungry, but have been too distracted to eat.

The hunger grows, and I gather berries and fruit along my journey. But not enough to satisfy.

I'm beginning to think that in most cases, love is not the answer. In fact it is only a distraction. Often times it is the dissipation of love that fills the void, usually by creating another void to focus on.

Distractions will not make me whole. How long will I feel like half a person?

I am sitting in my sanctuary. But God is not here right now. I cannot feel Him. I cannot feel a thing but hunger. Where is that damn bread and wine they promised?