The first day of falling

Today is the first day of “fall” and to celebrate I’ve done nothing but lay in my bed and pretend I’m getting stuff done on my phone while netflix-ing. It’s Alejandra’s birthday, and I posted a picture of us from the beginning of summer. Last time the season was changing I was in Soria playing soccer with Carlota and mocking Alejandra and now I’m prostrate on my bed thinking about how I really need to cut my fingernails before my shift tonight. I can’t decide if that’s okay or not.

I can’t decide if it’s okay that I have people from all over the world liking my instagram photo of my finger but I somehow can’t bring myself to send a message to someone I’ve considered a sister since I was fourteen. What would the consequence of such an easily accomplished act of congeniality? I would have to turn off New Girl for half an hour to have a conversation. UGH. Unacceptable.

When I was sixteen I wanted nothing more than to move to South Africa as soon as I graduated college. Holler holler Walla Walla.

The berries on the tree outside my window used to be orange. Now they’re a dark dark red. Almost brown? But some of them are indeed still orange, with no apparent reason or visible pattern to those that have retained their brightness and those that gave it up.

My grandpa’s favorite singer was Frank Sinatra, whose lyrics were full of chivalric love and inspiration and blue blue eyes. The best line I can’t stop thinking about is “Now aren’t you just a cute little lollipop… triple-dipped in psYCHo.”

There are at least 8.4423 billion words lying around in my room that I haven’t found time to read.

A couple nights ago I opened an IPA after work to wind down and I fell asleep before I could take four sips, and the next morning I thought  that I would finish it that next night. It’s still sitting on the far end of the bookshelf that serves as my nightstand.

I have to figure out how to hang out with someone who I respect immensely and who has had an inconceivable amount of tragedy slam into them in the last three months. I know I can’t make the world better for them yet that’s all I want… and I’m still lying in bed.

I did switch things around a bit though–I’ve gotten so invested in writing miserable things that I stopped lying on my stomach and now I’m sitting cross-legged.

Now I’ve written a bunch of glum things and instead of really thinking about posting these things to the public-est of forums and how whoever reads them is going to maybe become glum as well (assuming that you know, my misery is everyone else’s misery duh) I’m just going to do it and go paint some color into the world. It’s all falling into a vacuum of cloudy days and pumpkin spice and not knowing if the heating system in your ghetto apartment works, and so I’m just going to wallow in the vacuum. Peace out.

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