when the sheets
crumble
beneath your sweating body
damp
ugh—
how gross is that word?
but that's all it—
you're cut off—
it's just a bit of moisture
sick, i said stop.
what?
...moisture?
moisture. moisture. moisture.
pushed to the ground
crumble
why don't you just buy a fan
you dumb motherfucker?
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
joy
It's been a long time since I've written something that wasn't an email. That wasn't a poorly scrawled note to my friends in distant lands. That wasn't a note typed into my phone to be forgotten about until I'm scrambling for poorly thought-out stand-up material in the back of a show that has already started. Sometimes, I am a true mess.
At the moment it feels as though it's a-million-degree LA day, so it's as good a time as any to chronicle some things. I'm in my bedroom in my second apartment since moving to Los Angeles nearly two years ago. I'm happy to say I've finally gotten around to purchasing a rod iron bed frame, and a beautiful one it is, at that. I have an accent wall that is painted "Olde Amethyst." My sheets are light turquoise. My pillows are beige, yellow and gold. My comforter is white. I am classy, I tell you. My roommate Kristina once remarked to me that my bedroom looked as if it were out of a page of Anthropologie. To say I was anything less than jazzed is to lie. I was and am pretty jazzed.
Lately I've been jazzed about a lot of things — on Sunday I got home from an extended trip to the East coast, where I celebrated my friend Kerstin's Bachelorette in Boston, where I went to Maine to visit family, as well as tour the Vertex Pharmaceutical Facilities, where I met my boyfriend John's family and friends by way of a wedding in Pittsburgh. These were all fun, interesting and joyful privileges.
So, in closing this frankly very lackluster post, I would like to write 5 things I love and am thankful for:
1. I love that I have an artistic eye for colors, how things go together, and that I can afford to make things look nice.
2. I love that I have friends who are willing to pick me up from and drop me off at the airport.
3. I love that an icepack on the back of my neck actually does cool me down enough to focus when it's hot out.
4. I love that I have three roommates who always want to chat even when they say they can't.
5. I love that I have family members that care about each other and me deeply.
At the moment it feels as though it's a-million-degree LA day, so it's as good a time as any to chronicle some things. I'm in my bedroom in my second apartment since moving to Los Angeles nearly two years ago. I'm happy to say I've finally gotten around to purchasing a rod iron bed frame, and a beautiful one it is, at that. I have an accent wall that is painted "Olde Amethyst." My sheets are light turquoise. My pillows are beige, yellow and gold. My comforter is white. I am classy, I tell you. My roommate Kristina once remarked to me that my bedroom looked as if it were out of a page of Anthropologie. To say I was anything less than jazzed is to lie. I was and am pretty jazzed.
Lately I've been jazzed about a lot of things — on Sunday I got home from an extended trip to the East coast, where I celebrated my friend Kerstin's Bachelorette in Boston, where I went to Maine to visit family, as well as tour the Vertex Pharmaceutical Facilities, where I met my boyfriend John's family and friends by way of a wedding in Pittsburgh. These were all fun, interesting and joyful privileges.
So, in closing this frankly very lackluster post, I would like to write 5 things I love and am thankful for:
1. I love that I have an artistic eye for colors, how things go together, and that I can afford to make things look nice.
2. I love that I have friends who are willing to pick me up from and drop me off at the airport.
3. I love that an icepack on the back of my neck actually does cool me down enough to focus when it's hot out.
4. I love that I have three roommates who always want to chat even when they say they can't.
5. I love that I have family members that care about each other and me deeply.
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