find

between the backs of my ears and my head, in little fold, right there, dead and peeling skin, and not much else.

what else is that, what poetry can be made from the forever peeling skin behind my ears, except that it is a little bit like dandruff and dandruff sometimes like snow and none of this is what i want to be saying at all.

don't stop belevin'

i'm sitting in the bathroom avoiding my parents and listening to journey's "don't stop believin'" on repeat. this song reminds me of being in iowa this summer. it reminds me of all the boys (all twenty of them) getting onto the stage and belting it out, they couldn't remember the words and so the consulars were prompting them from the back. it was maybe the best part of the entire talent show, but not because they were particularly good at singing, rather it was the feeling of exuberance that was radiated off of the stage.

(this is nonsense. i am stuck writing in semi-formal college essay style prose, watch, i won't drop the f-bomb once this entire post.)

some days have been really good. today was a good day. we got take out and ate in bed and watched nick and norah's infinite playlist and played monopoly. also it snowed.

(there, that was a run on sentence, i am returning to my normal "voice.")

what else is there to say. i've been having bad days too, doing shoulder stands (yoga thing) as a way to break out of yucky thought behavior patterns, not writing enough, pushing thoughts of what i want to do off to the side as i struggle to attempt to finish college stuff, and declaring that i hate holidays.

(and that will be all, because i'm not sure that i have the energy to pull in the lyrics of "don't stop believin'" so that they apply to my life. so that i can talk about how scary it is, and how days feel really very long, and how my future, seems somehow out of my control, and how all of this with the winter nights starting is enough to make me feel very sad, and how here sitting in the cold i can only remember that today was a good day, and that other days were good days, and only remember all those kids on the stage singing, telling me, telling us, with help from the back, "don't stop believin.'")

if/when

walk in the dark
return home to a room with a big rug
and find a fridge full of greek yogurt
a bed with a soft comforter
and a cat that doesn't leave fur everywhere
also a piano for you
a nice screen to type onto
a printer
lots of time and motivation to write.
big windows.
radiators.
wood floors.
clean cloths.
ect.

how does one make their life int0 what they want it to be? how does one draw out the path to walk on, how do they stick to it? how do they get out of bed when it's snowing? how does one find their mittens? how does one keep all the pieces together, so it is a home and not a house filled with stuff? a family and not people they live with?

or the real question is, how do i do those things? when will i learn?

can't find

the quote in the book or on the internet, the pair of tights without the holes, or any of the million other things i needed to make a day run smoothly, like a good attitude.