jesus christ
my life is a sticky mess,
an eton mess
or
a trifle
sat in the sun
either way
i am easily dissolved
there, that is my poem of the day. i wrote it so i wouldn't scream or say fuck, but alas, i have just done both. why oh why can't i just mature. jesus, i am 54. what are the chances at this point of me becoming responsible, frugal, or to be "an able to follow the path kind of girl."
zero, fucking zero i tell you.
i buy kinfolk magazine instead of food - ( $24.99, if you don't mind) and oh, it doesn't stop there - why there's uppercase, flow, salvage, peeps, monocule.... and wait if i'm flush maybe ambrosia or the gourmand.
what on earth is wrong with me. i'll tell you what's wrong - i would rather feel thick, smooth paper between my fingers, smell the heady perfume of wood pulp, look at pretty pictures and read cool shit than plan a safe and happy retirement.
it is the religious equivalent of meeting the pope - on a quarterly basis of course
oh lord, i am having this giant fight inside my head. bev the good is losing to bev the lunatic. i am that grasshopper who will be banging on some ant's door next winter, demanding to be let in out of the cold.
there seems no way to stop it.
i will be remembered for my lust, a cautionary tale, a fable.
a portrait will hang in economic schools of me, peeping out from under my blue, plastic tarpaulin home, my skeletal hand grasping my precious tomes of fancy.
in the meantime i will eat apples and oatmeal and carry on with this ridiculous behaviour.
speaking of which,
i looked back on my blog and my new year's resolutions for 2012 were as follows-
- let my teats feel the breeze once in awhile
- gain weight
- discover i am talented embroiderer
- swear more
- be less cautious with prescription medication
i'm just going to continue with those, if that's ok.
i doing well with them.
ok, with the glaring exception of dash 3
i am still in the imagine phase of that one
i just wanted to let you know i am here. still breathing in and out with the greatest of ease. still trying to reconstruct the pieces of my dervish existence. still feeling as if i am a live streaming television show. still on my self-imposed sabbatical. still jousting with my mother. still listening to the shipping lane forecast to becalm my mind. still happy.
but.....
i am on the threshold of change
the edge of reason
i must be brave.
i will plunge and hold my breath.
the world is my oyster.
the sea is in me
i will bury the bones of the prairie and let them rest.
the wind still carries the sound of his voice
i will remember,
but i will dance this dance.
the water's coming in fast
i will not drown.
the sirens call from the rocks
fear not
i cannot fail
i shall grow gills and swim
cheers
bev
