hello, how is everyone?

oh me oh my. i am in good ole huntersville once again, and i'm bored outta my mind.

I'm becoming an adult. Shit.

I am tired of how fragile nineteen years of age feels.

 NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/11/arts/music/11hayes.html?ref=obituaries


http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/10/arts/television/10mac.html?ref=obituaries


just. why? shit almighty.

I WANT TO SCR
EAM SO LOUD
LY RIGHT NOW.

There's nothing better than The Roots live. Nothing.

I've been sitting around listening to them all morning and I remembered the concert they had with O.A.R. at Davidson College and it was the best concert I've experienced. They'd just gotten this new touring guitarist named Capt. Kirk Douglas who was this mixture of bob dylan and saul williams; I've never drooled so much in my entire life. Jamila went with me. We danced and danced and danced and afterwards we went and got coffee at summit ( i think) ...

i want that day back.

OH THANK GOD.

Someone please explain to me when placing a simple fucking phone call to a person became a major event?!

I'm at a loss since I am not very experienced with this whole "Hey-call-me-tomorrow" nonsense. Especially since I didn't. oops. Why can't snail mail be convenient anymore? And carrier pigeons? Those means of communication hold more weight than the telephone!!!! Right?! RIGHT?! Christ.

Other than my telephone call issues, I went jog-walking again today. Second time this week and I'm noticing how quickly my hips have perked up. By that, I mean I'm usually not very aware of them when I don't do much physical activity, but when I do whoa nelly I feel like Shakira. <-- (Overstatement?) Taking care of myself and giving a damn about being aesthetically pleasing to myself feels good and, dare I say, sexy. I feel sexier. Something I've never carved out time or space in my head to do in all my years of relishing in my unkempt glory.

But I'm keeping my hair... I think that my hair provides a balance between my newfound vanity and my ever-present ambivalence towards appearing clean.

My phone keeps staring at me.

I woke up at 7:45 today, and haven't gone back to sleep since. It's quite lovely, actually, watching a day mature from a cool, humidity-free morning into a sunny day with a warm, breezy disposition. Absolutely beautiful.

Although I haven't written little else than livejournal entries, I'm surprisingly calm and somewhat at ease with my laziness. Ginger's fine, too. She's taken to reclining on the stairs, staring outside of the windows... She watched me bake a bread pudding with a cherry coulis. I'm trying to channel my inner martha stewart. Maybe i should channeling my inner martha graham (she's fucking in there somewhere, i just know it) and schedule and appointment with the physical therapist for my knees. i'll address that later, i guess. but it's peaceful, just baking and cooking and listening to good music.

I finally watched Volver for the first time, and i'm in love with Almodovar all over again. I need to watch everything he's ever had his little la mancha hands in. for his next project, i want him to do one hundred years of solitude... i think i could just die happy if that ever happened.

there is winston-salem with aaron on friday for independence day. and i'm itching to see Ro, just fucking beside myself.

i found this interview with james baldwin:

like i said, Obsessed.

I want to go back to Winston-Salem in the worst way. I miss school.

ever since i got a journal for my birthday, i keep forgetting that i have a livejournal. so it's odd trying to refamiliarize myself with "updating" and i would of course find it impossible to remember all of the past term.

I miss NCSA already. As much as i would like to think that i was burned out and miserable, i realize that carrying on an existence there is unlike any other and cannot compare to carrying on an existence in huntersville. so what am i to do? finding a job has proven somewhat unsuccessful due to the fact that i have little experience in clerical or office work; i've been scouring craigslist like mad trying to find a classified that's a bit more forgiving in the "2 yrs.+ experience needed..." area. Oh, but screw cubicles anyway if i don't get anything like that. On the other hand, I know i still have spot at cheeseburger in paradise. what a cruel place.

I wrote this the day of beaux arts:

Jay's Place

Jay always looks at me
like I am the one
who drowned his cat when I ask,
"A pack of Camel Lights, please?"

His grey brow furrows
angled and disapproving.
I smile politely.

"I've done nothing wrong!,"
I want to protest.
He turns
and selects a pack
like a grandfather flicking a
horsefly off his daughter's shoulder.

I pay.

Then, in an effort to redeem  myself,
add,
"Have a good one..."
My brown eyes wander
to the various photos he's taken
of his patrons.

My friends
are in a good of amount of them, too:
Rebecca.
Aila and Andrew.
Isaac, Kelsey, Hannah, and Speedie.
Ali.
All smokers.

And I've been frequenting
his little shop
for close to a year now,
and he glares at me
like I've been on the news
screaming and yelling.

"You too," he mutters
and goes back to his game
of solitare.

And I walk out,
20 Class A cigarettes richer.

***



I still need a car.

oh bla dee
oh bla da

If you havin girl problems, I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one.

All I want to do right now is just sit outside Summit and drink a latte and read. I miss the smallness of huntersville, davidson, and cornelius.
i miss charlotte. i miss abbey and mila and brandon and elsa. i miss my pooch.

this summer, i will have a license and a car. and i will fly wherever the caffeine and gasoline takes me...

my great great grandmother's name was Isabella Forrest.

But I learned fast how to keep my head up 'cause I
Know there is this side of me that
Wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just
Fly the whole mess into the sea

my legs are tree trunks. strong, muscular, and brown. i hate them most of the time because they are not willowy and thin and knobby kneed. i'm frustrated by them in dance class and when i try on jeans with kelsey.  they mock me when i look at myself in my caprezio tights and leotard, saying, "Sorry, but you're stuck with this."  they make me feel wider than necessary, they make me bigger looking from the back.

i am exasperated with these thick branches stuck to my bottom half.  and no matter how many hours i spend on the elliptical, they'll be with me for the rest of my days.

i love you but i'm gonna keep quiet about it
i love you but i'm keeping my mouth shut about it.


fuck.