gurl shake dat laffy taffy

this morning i spilled hot wax all over my bathroom sink and cabinet. like a tub of bikini wax that is cherry laffy taffy in all ways but flavor (even that is easily debatable).

after spilling it on the sink and cabinets, i cursed the fates for stealing the 20 minutes it was gonna take to clean it up with the little bit of isopropyl alcohol i had left. some of it dripped on my toes, too.

in the midst of my cursing, i dropped the whole fucking thing on the bathroom floor.
then, there was crying.

i give up.
seriously.
it's gonna take 3 hours and a gallon of rubbing alcohol to clean it off my floor, the $85 wax pot, and my $200 hair straightener.

i wish i were rich. i'd fucking throw the appliances away and get new floors.
instead, i get to cover the entire pink mess in saran wrap and look at it for at least a month. because that's how long it takes for me to clean anything up.

auld lang syne

we all are miserable.
talking to a friend over turkey rachel's the other day, i determined that whatever misery we have, we create. but create it, we do.

either you doing what you love and can't pay the bills or working so hard to pay the bills you never see anyone you love. or you are paying the bills doing what you love, but you no longer love it because it's your job.

misery.
it's fucking beautiful

what misery do i create?
i think that my blog pretty clearly explains that.
merry christmas.
go make some misery.

with or without you

at the annual girls christmas dinner the other night, we talked about what we could not live without. i came to tweezers.

but in the bathroom at the bar car later that week, what i really came to is that there is not a thing in this world that i can not live without.

except
the cruelty of hope and the comfort of indecision
and it is tangible in driving him home at 1am,
walking through the obed national park,
the freckled bridge of his nose,
the temporary tag on a windshield,
and the same lunch date
almost one year later
with the same half-eaten sandwich,
the same pathetic snow,
the same lack of eye contact
and the same damn pair of shoes.

conception

Your finger traces the pulse in my neck
From the shelf of my jaw line mandible
To the soft ridges of my breast bone sternum.
Fascination moves your palm and I see
Your eyes expand and contract
As you discover and lose my pulse.
You talk chemical reactions that start life,
The beating of the ventricles,
And how time wears a muscle to its end.
I consider the scent of your shoulder clavicle
The tightening of my chest thoracic
And the minute my pulse might stop.

And in this morning bed I wonder
About the technical names of things,
The difference between substance and longevity,
And the conflict in our belief and my desire:
These chemical reactions in our decisions
Small moments when life begins.