back home to new england

home.

love home,

hate knowing:

i'll be here for three.5 months.

sense boredom.

not excited.

but cobblestones are scary

I have outfit envy. But the purpose of this post is to lament the fact that I have ankle boots almost identical to these, but I don't wear them for two reasons. 1. I have yet to master the art of navigating rough terrain in stilettos. 2. The only time somewhat appropriate for me to wear those killers is the weekend. And chances are that at those so-called appropriate events, I often find myself in a state which further debilitates my ability to walk in them successfully.

ALAS!

i like cold beverages, uh-huh.

This chick from the cobra snake is holding the same mug that we used to have in our "health foods" dining hall, until everyone stole them and started filling them up with their alchy bevs on the weekends (or Thursdays). Now the dining hall is stocked with paper cups, sans sleeves, and I burn my fingers when I'm trying to sip my Organic Apple Red tea. Then I double-cup, and inevitably throw that shit away, and contribute to the giganticizing of landfills. THANKS A LOT EVERYONE, FOR STEALING THE COOL MUGS AND RUINING EVERYTHING.

give me more than thirty seconds after//coughing green//plugged in left out of the refrigerator//sticks laid out side by side by side in boxes clamped crimped closed//swaddling scarves//velcro//i promise to try//not forever//a fever//a bookstore//squared bottles and laced threaded smaller headed pillows on the floor two mattresses the pillows on the floor//songs for me i'd have to tell you what to choose//but dancing all night but dancing all night collapse collide dancing all night where are you//you are a fever//don't do what's good for me don't i never do what's good for me and make me want it//hollers down the hallway shut up shut up shut up//cardboard walls and xacto knives and club meetings at night//tell me a story//you like me best when you//smilesmilesmilesmile on me smile all over me damn damn leash//you've got me on a leash a damn damn leash and it's hard enough to be my damn self//plugged in lizard skin guitar noises and those cardboard walls pipe noises pipe dreams pipes telling me i'm stupid to sleep pipe noises pipe dreams pipes hollering at me to sleep

fuck slush

I would love nothing more than to wear ballet slippers and jazz shoes on my eager tootsies during my daily adventures. I've recently altered my favorite pair of jeans from my freshman year of high school, the ones I used to sport with dirty pink canvas slippers for my walks to school in the springtime. So now I'm itching baaaad for some saccharine footwear. HOWEVER there is (is there EVER)such a thing as winter in this lovely New England locale, and the constant cycle of ice-new snow-slush-slush-melty-slush-ice-snow-melty-melty prevents me from doing as I please. As usual. Flimsy dance shoes vs. six inches of winter on the ground? I think I need to find a new fantasy.

hmhmmhmmm bumbumbummm

Am I the only one who finds it adorable when boys sing to themselves in public, and utterly obnoxious when girls do?