You Can Hide Quiet As A Mouse

There is a big block of cheese in the way of my writing, and I have been gnawing for the entire past month. I have hardly made a dent. I can not climb over it. Instead, I will begin a long journey around it. Sit tight, folks. It might be a while.

It is 12:26 on the first Saturday of Spring Break. I am in bed right now. I know, I should be somewhere in Mexico doing illegal drugs and taking tequila shots. Instead, I am in Rochester, Minnesota between my navy blue comforter and forest green sheets (and the cotton is pilled from overuse the last few years).

I need Sufjan Stevens to come sing me to sleep.
Casimir Pulaski Day is seamless and perfect on repeat.

For a while I wished that I would get insomnia when something was really bothering me. That way, I always had some sort of excuse for when I sucked at everything all day. Instead, I get eight hours like clockwork, and I am forced to face the day with an optimistic attitude. (Sometimes, I just hate those!)

I want money right now, but not because I want to impress anyone. I want to reinvent myself. I want a new me clothed in something interesting and powerful and ME. I know that I could probably do it without money, but that would take more work. Abercrombie really was the downfall of me... because all I have to show for last year’s work is a closet full of clothes that someone told me to like. Later, I can count on fingers and toes how many things from there I want to keep.

This next week will enforce all of my awkwardness and tiredness. I swear… I could dye my hair a million different colors and never find anything I like. I could read The Fountainhead for the rest of my life. I am trying to compile a mental list of things to do while I am in Territorial for a week. Laura told me to find a story. I would very much like to do so.

I want perfectionism and materialism and God and dark chocolate to meld into a single, technocratic structure to support me in my endeavor to find out what is making me tick like that fucking alligator in Peter Pan.

"Oh, the glory that the Lord has made and the complications you could do without (when I kissed you on the mouth). Tuesday night, at the bible study, we lift our hands and pray over your body, but nothing ever happens..."