Scratch.

Working on the story I am telling myself... this rough draft belongs in the wastebasket. Scratch. Kendall Payne, let's start from Scratch.

So next time you’re reading a religious book and the author says you can be the person God designed you to be, flip to the back cover and look at the author picture. If said author is wearing clothes, put the book back on the shelf. It’s like my Uncle Mosie told us, Never trust a fella wearing clothes. -DM

the perfect bedtime song... i actually dreamed of world peace last night.

so let it be.

imagining all my blood running down my vessels toward the floor, this gravity so strong. like a magnet pulling my feet. STAY. this is a good Sinking Into My Soles. not a dread. a calm. the opposite the itchy thin air up by the smoky ozone. it's fresh and oxygenated here. low.

thinking of laurie halse anderson now, and how Catalyst produced a parade of chemistry metaphors to explore coming of age. nobody rocks vehicle like laurie rocks vehicle. truth needs to move. have wheels. gas. merriam webster catalogued the rest.

i'm going to wake up sans furies.

the decaf diary

sleep is gripping me. it's my vice. but as much as i feel like finals are over, they are so not. tomorrow is a hella big day & i need to work out this paper & that presentation & the late assignment I pretend doesn't exist. so snap out of it, sleeping duty! sloth is not your sin today.

choose your own adventure

today i told myself a different story. with help from my pet unicorn renee, and the wise old sages who populate my literary memory. there's an ugly subplot in my life that rears its face every once in a while. and it scares the wind out of my sails every time. like "oh shit! this is not ok! shutdown all systems & realize what an epic failure this subplot makes you!"

it's been woven through chapters for years, mostly in paragraphs but sometimes in pages. and i'm not proud of the tone and diction i've chosen for it half the time, or how much space it's taken up (but that part seems nonnegotiable). today, the story cast itself in a whole different light. soft, glowing, ambient light that made the subplot's face look positively ravishing. like an angel, honestly. i almost felt like we might be dear friends after all this violence and name-calling. i love it. today. i lovvvvve it as much as i hate the old way.

the mean reds

i know "the mean reds" (audrey hepburn's name for angst in breakfast at tiffany's) have anti-communist undertones. so i call them the furies. because it kind of sounds like fairies - but fairies that wield tiny swords that slash you to pieces inside. the furies. and papercuts heal and all, unlike the cold war.

i'm not saying i have the furies right now, but i'm not saying i don't.

who will take me to see the flowers?

quel pandora station to listen to in the shower is such a big decision.

today the lineup is 

I Know You Want Me

Sufjan Stevens

KT Tunstall

i just don't know who i want to draw me into Saturday. what mood. what energy level. maybe a glass of water will tell me.

THEN on to bigger and better decisions. at the national arboretum.

KT?