"Are they dying?" "Maybe they just look antique..."

* This is how Stoph responded to me yesterday, which was the nicest thing he could have said about my brown Chrysanthemums. *

Hi. I’m nuts.
Its 1245 in the mornin, which is not late at all for me—except that I had this revelation today about what sleep could do for my life. And still. I choose awake. Bad?
I just have so much to say.
I can remember feeling this way as far as ten years back.
Oh wait eleven, because whattheheck I’m gonna be 21 in one second.
When did that happen?
Life in my face.
I have so much to say.
And by that I mean—I have so much I don’t know how to say… which I should exhaust myself with via mad session of frustrating inarticulate pages until I figure out what the heck I’m doing with my life.
Which, tomorrow of course, could take a completely different turn. Because I change change change like I’m dang OPTIMUS PRIME.


I love Optimus Prime.
I love changing.
But oh man it blows my mind.
I learned so much today, and loved too. I loved 50 billion miles today.
I am already new.
I am already different.
I am already more to figure out than I was yesterday, when I still had questions.
I know who I am.
I do not know who I will be, or how I am getting there.
Except that I need to listen and follow.
Lately, people talk about this:
They say it’s hard because God’s plans are different from my plans.
It’s hard because I just want to know what God’s plans are.
My issue is different.
I'll do whatever I feel I should do, whether I understand or not...
My issue is
listening to all that he is surely tryin to tell me from up there.
I keep shafting my commitment to receive.
The consequence:
I AM ALOOF TO THE POSSIBILITIES.
Am I hearing?
Not well enough.
Wake up.
Choose.
Act.

Sleep!
NO.



In the name of sleep, I’m lining up the rest of my unspoken words:

Stop desecrating my quiet place. Remember what this place meant? Can you stop wrecking everything? You’re not. You’re not wrecking everything. But you are wrecking valuable, beautiful opportunities—and then reappearing everywhere as a reminder. It makes me tired and sad.

I want to have children that look like your sweet hispanic beautiful family, except to reach that I would have to stop dating Stoph, which is how I met you in the first place. And no thanks on account of I like him.

Get the heck home from California woman. My toenails are waitin. Which is code for—I just want to be around you and don’t actually care about whether we paint our toenails as planned.

Thanks for forgiving me today. I want to be so much like you when I grown up. I know you are my roots.

When I am with you, I feel EFY.fourteen.years.old again, plus a mass motivation to proactively seek my potential. Saturday sleepover was healing. I’m thankful for your rad example, like when we were ten and you wore sweet one-piece speedos.

I am worried about you because of the difference between who you are, and who you were. And mostly, the difference in who I know you could be. I see power in you. Do you feel that? Harvest yourself.

I love you, but not enough outloud-- to your face. You are solid for me, unending. And I spend my time writing anonymous frustrations rather than be solid for you. Who am I being right now? Why do I do that? For now, I delete the angry paragraphs from this post. For a decent hour tomorrow, I will call you.

* * * * *
Cait showed me this live cover of Free Fallin on Saturday. I know Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers had soul, but I am affected spiritually when I hear this guy sing it on stage.