Monday, February 14, 2011

one day a year you are allowed to be sappy...

Every time someone raises a single eyebrow,
I am reminded of you.
Except with them
I don't melt into a pile of giggles and blushes.

Stop it. I swear, I am over you.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Song for You

Elope with me Miss Private and we'll sail around the world
I will be your Ferdinand and you my wayward girl.
How many nights of talking in hotel rooms can you take?
How many nights of limping around on pagan holidays?
Oh, elope with me in private and we'll set something ablaze,
A trail for the devil to erase.

-Piazza, New York Catcher
Belle and Sebastian

Monday, February 7, 2011


I have this wild restless feeling that comes when the day is sunny and warm, and there is a cold wind blowing. There are no connections tying me to home, no connections to Italy, no connections to the ground. I could easily start screaming. My whole body longs to jump up from the table where I am studying and start to run.
Oh, studying. Sitting on a hard wooden bench, shoulders slumped over a computer or book, body temperature dropping from lack of movement until your hands are cold and clammy. Goosebumps and a deep bone chill, but with circles of sweat under your arms. Evenly distributed throughout the room are more poor souls like myself, heads down, ipods plugged in. Your eyeballs are dry, your brain fried. You are hungry, tired, thirsty. But it's my mind that hurts the most. I can't read another single word, yet I continue to try, the words bouncing off my retinas basically, brain matter unable to absorb anymore. IT IS SO DRY. WHY DO THEY USE SUCH BIG WORDS??? ARE THEY TRYING TO MAKE ME GO CRAZY?!
Facebook calls; you go and get a coffee. All of the sudden cleaning your room, the bathroom, the walls, anything seems more appealing than trying to make sense of and memorize dates/names/ideas.

At this moment, I would rather watch paint dry than still be sitting here. I would rather try to eat sawdust. I would rather wait for a pot of water to boil dry. I would rather watch golf, no, curling. I would rather move a hill of sand from one spot to another using only tweezers, or empty a well using an eyedropper.
Instead, I am staring at the dust motes illuminated in the ray of sunlight by my head, and imagining breathing all of that in.
Ok, back to the books.