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Wednesday, March 18

Onions Have Layers, Redheads Have Lists

It's always so strange to me coming to write after being swallowed up in things I wish I had time to write about. I never know where to start because there is no beginning.
On the bright side, blogs are like good friends that live far away. Always happy to see you and will pick up the conversation wherever you like. You can leave out whatever you like and no one even cares. There's no pressure to say more than you feel like sharing.

We'll start from the surface and work in.

I love my job. It's the most wonderful thing in the world. I love having somewhere to be and having things to do. I love that my random talents are all being used. I love that I get to work with my best friend. I love the fun, stupid things we do in the warehouse. It's amazing.

I'm really excited about moving in with Kaylor, Claire (and Ashleigh?). I want the little blue house with tulip trees and the little boy next door. It'll feel really good to pay rent and have bills and be a grownup (I'll probably eat those words later)

You find out who really wants to be your friend when you no longer have the ability to aggressively pursue many relationships. The ones who aren't real interested may say that they want to be around, but fall away eventually. I'm sure there are those who are simply drowned in their own stuff(which I fully understand and can empathize with) but there are others who could, but don't care. You find out who you really care about when you're working and can't be with them and you find yourself longing for their company, a text message, a voice mail -- anything. I've been finding these things out recently. They don't hurt as much as I thought they would. There's peace in my heart.

I see who it was that really broke my heart now. It wasn't who I thought it was. It wasn't who I've always blamed it on. It wasn't just once. It was no one, and it was "the" one. And sometimes it was my own naiveté and stubborn soul.

It's still all broken up and weepy when I stop and think. It's not very often though, because I'm kinda busy. I'm on my way to recovery, though I wish I wasn't healing all by myself. It's my fault -- I can't share that to anyone because I don't know how to explain it. It's a burden I can only share with the girl who reads my thoughts off my eyes. I can't share it with you because you're so far away and can't see me anymore even when you're close.

I need to paint a bedroom and buy a bed.
I need to wear a new dress.
I need to discover a charm bracelet or a pewter pendant.
I need to be in pictures that make me look like a '50s housewife.
I need to ride on a long interstate with my blue Ford hat on and my windows down.
I need to finish writing that song about wishing.
I need to clean out my car.
I need to decoupage something old, wooden, and painted green.
I need to take a deep breath.
I need to give your long sleeve shirt back.
I need to stop sleeping with a teddy bear.
I need to take a nap in a field in England.
I need to clean up my friends list.
I need to sharpen my pencils.
I need to wear and apron and bake snickerdoodles. Alone. For a boy.
I need to stop listening to songs that make me sad, lonely, rememember, loathe her, miss you, angry with you,and hope for that which is irresponsible, naive, and unlikely.
I need to pick violets.
I need to bring flowers to my friends.
I need to write a letter to someone who'll write one back
I need to take my next lunch break at the closest library.
I need to re-order checks.
I need a new pair of shoes. Boots. I need my own pair of boots.


I want my recurring day dream to come true. The nice one, not the one that hurts.

I will stop listening to the part that says I'm being silly and just let my heart be a little ridiculous because -- well -- Love is ridiculous. It doesn't make sense to wanna be there when they don't. It doesn't make any sense to keep no record of wrongs. And it is certain foolishness to die for someone who wouldn't help you out of a chair, let alone die in YOUR place.

I am staying on my hill. I am building a house. I am hanging a swing in the tree. The "No Trespassing" sign has been in the trash for some time now.

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