that’s the thing right there that i was looking for, working toward. i was riding an edge as long as i could until i couldn’t anymore.  i fear for my high-thread-count sheets but what delicious and intense release: i feel as if i have cultivated something, and wow it’s 11:11 right now and i wish for all the good and wonderful and beautiful things of this world to be of their most radiant power.

i had to let go of thinking i might be a narcissist for wanting the very large space required for more deeply examining myself. my therapist says that if i have to ask, i probably don’t have to be too concerned that i’m a textbook case, but likely i’m far too self-absorbed and should be less worried about the lint in my bellybutton or these thick thighs that grew up around white people too long. i spend a lot of time alone though, on purpose, and i’m learning so much, and it’s all useless and important. Some things: a) examine patterns of abuse more deeply because you haven’t graduated yet and b) there is great value in a good energetic fluffing, in working with tension as a fuel for creativity. yes. what would you call that? sapiosensual? that’s me, tho.

i smoke a joint in the back yard with a friend and then forget for a minute that she’s standing there because i’ve started to remove the dead flower heads from a big sage bush. she stands in the dry grass next to me and i think oh god, i gotta not do this right now, no matter how compelled i am. i want to stand here and groom this plant, to encourage a second round of bloom. I am intoxicated by the scent of tobacco flowers nearby that open each evening for the impending moon and i drift easily. I sometimes go to such pretty places this way. also there are oars in the boat.

and so i reframe this whole situation, just like everything else recently that i “want right now” and realize that if i don’t obsessively trim back the sage bush while my friend stands around bored, I will have several more opportunities to groom it and breathe in the jasmine-y scent of the nearby tobacco plants, which have produced all these otherworldly white flowers that awaken several of my senses. of course, this could all be different, too, if my friend was intoxicated by the scent of these tobacco flowers, if my friend wasn’t bored by plant pruning. it’s a big plant. we could have really been going at it.

 

 

 

 

 

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