Assessing the coziness of beds in TV and movies. Consulting to make said beds more desirable. Pillow fluff. How the comforter feels on dry heels. Room for dreams.
And maybe a lighting consultant in real life. Banishing fluorescent lighting, promoting ambient lighting. Getting the lighting right in your office, in your home, on your computer. Teaching the benefits of twinkle lights, rope lighting, candles. Teaching how lighting expresses a mood, a sentiment of caring or disregard for its intended audience.
Wake up to the right light. Go to sleep engulfed in a feeling of quiet safety and abandon.
Hey hire me, I know how to make you feel OK
There are buses outside my apartment tonight. Marching bands bused in throngs of ornately dressed adolescents.
But the sound… the sound comforts me. The bus hum. It reminds me of touring. Of a day well done, and anticipation about the next one. Sleep came so naturally then. A day of sun and sweat closed out after a dreary stop at Wal-Mart to get bread and peanut butter and whatever stupid thing you felt the need to own on the way out. Pull the curtains closed and succumb to the humming. It’ll lull you to sleep. Rock-a-bye-not-a-baby.
Tomorrow is a whole new day in a whole new place.
Something I’ve been thinking about lately is how I’m getting older, but how I feel so much better about myself every year.
I know this is the sort of thing people say to make themselves feel better, but I’m not lying to you. I’ve never felt better. Why could’t I feel this good at 23? 27? Is it something I’ve had to earn?
Was there a time when I had perfect pores, enviously slim arms, no tiny lines under my left eye when I woke up in the morning? Maybe, but it didn’t matter. You can have a pure body and a totally fucked up mind.
What good is a 20 year old body with eyes that can’t see it for what it is? It’s like waking up every morning and looking in a funhouse mirror. Are you better, or are you worse? The answer is: both.
And then one day, you realize… things feel kind of balanced. You kind of like your legs, how they look in fishnets and that fucking thigh gap isn’t the be-all, end-all of attractiveness. And your legs take you places. You can run, climb fences, walk with purpose. Make a stand.
Your face, despite its flaws (big pores, round eyes, full cheeks), is expressive and communicates things that sometimes words fail to.
You stop listening to that bitch voice inside your head and start listening to people who see you, who feel you. “You have the softest skin of anyone I’ve ever known.” I do? I can’t even see me.
Were the neurons not properly connected before? Why was I so fucking terrible to myself? I envy the person who can have a 20 year old body and a 30 year old mind.
Someday beauty will be a deep breath and a slow smile and it would never translate to HD but everyone will revel in that balance.
Were you the prettiest when you were 25? Doesn’t matter. Your psychological makeup wouldn’t allow for any glowing, any take-a-good-look in the mirror-ing
Get to the middle, kid, and you’ll be alright. Maybe not as fresh-faced, but at least 60% more sane.
I believe you’ll find a balance.
Today I felt that cold terror move down my spine and change my body temperature entirely. True: This is the feeling you experience when you think someone’s broken into your house or your car. Also true: This is the feeling you experience when you see a spider on your bedspread and then you lose track of it. As of today, true: When you know you’ve let a bunch of people down and how could you have missed it?
I read some incredible short stories this weekend. Some required suspension of disbelief. Some just required an acknowledgement that tiny moments are still moments worth exploring. They reminded me that I don’t have to go on great adventures in South America or have multiple brushes with death and dysfunction to have a story.
I have stories. I want to tell you stories.
And the ones I read—by Aimee Bender and Miranda July—we’re so involving and yet sometimes? So mundane I felt like I’ve been being lazy, waiting for the bigger things. The revelations.
Maybe we don’t have discover anything before writing the story. Maybe writing the story is the discovery, and we just have to be OK with not getting to the end, to some crazy obvious payoff.
Once I wrote about loving the Highland exit from the 101 south because of the palm trees and big ideas and now that’s my exit. I’m living the dream.
I ditched out on nanowrimo because I don’t believe I have enough to say… but what if the small things are enough? Talks of wrists and lips against temples and how taking bites of someone else’s food is an essential part of my day.
Maybe my thinking is all wrong.
Maybe someone should hold me to a certain amount of words per week. And there should be a reward—or consequence.
How do these stories get out there?
And I had not achieved my fitbits. I was at 4.5
I had been on walks. I had cleaned my house and did my laundry. But we we’re getting down to the wire and what now?
He texted: Hurry
I put on shorts and a sports bra and a shirt and my nikes and ran down to my apartment gym. Mind you, I had whiskey in my roasted dandelion tea this evening. 2 cups.
I was doing a 10 minute mile but the minutes crept by so I +++. I was doing a 9 minute mile at 11:57 when I reached my goal.
I was going to write something profound about timing, but I think I’m more interested in sleeping so
Christmas has come early, punk rock fans!
The Warped Tour 2014 route has been released. Although we’re still about 200 days away from actually getting to see our favorite yet-to-be-released bands perform at their very own rock ‘n’ roll summer camp, fear not! Season 2 of Warped Roadies airs on December 4, at the same time the tour’s official lineup will be announced.
See the dates below the cut.
It’s almost like we exist in parallel universes, until our needs click.
Cherries, cherries, cherries - you win. I win. We win.