I walked out of the house this morning, feeling pretty good despite the early hour. It's CES week my friends, which means there may be a grand total of 10 people in the department today. No bosses, no phone calls, faxes, favors, and no real dress code. I was looking forward to it, pleased with my white button down shirt/black pegged punker pants/patent mary janes kinda thing. However, my new years resolution to become more humble was in full effect as every girl who got on the bus was looking amazing-san francisco style. This whole city is practically a runway. A punker girl dressed sharp like saftey-pins with her white blonde hair and black matrix coat, a woman in witchy salem heels and a long red leather jacket, a girl who is obviously some rock stars wife talking about going on tour in her short red hair and cute black heels with bows. Everyone was on point, fer sure. I smiled to shake off the feelings of insecurity. What else are ya gonna do? At the very least, I live in a city where everyone looks like someone I would want to talk to.
When I get to work, I wander in still feeling buzzy from the morning hits I took before leaving. It's empty and I realize that despite my eagerness to have the office mostly to myself, it's still fucking work. It amuses me though, that I treat this place more like my home - I come in, vaguely high, with sunglasses on and earphones in, drop the paper near where it needs to go, unpack my shit and proceed to have breakfast while checking email. It's now 2pm. I haven't actually done anything yet that could be considered work. I get sleepy and take a nap, go to Whole Foods for lunch with the boyfriend, come back and blog-garble. 3 hours to go and I want another nap. Maybe I'll get through some work today and maybe I won't. Either way I've got to call Chatty after work so she can come over and I can help her dye her hair. I'm a little uncertain about this girl, but I'll give her the benefit. I just don't know if I can keep up with that kind of manic energy right now.
Le sigh. I'm gonna procrastinate by having myself one more illicit cigarette. Then I'll get to work. Yeah, right. That's the ticket. Wish me luck.

strains of jenny lewis' voice echo in my head, a song i think of as being called "happy" due to the repetition of such promises in the chorus.
it is friday morning and i should be working but i am slightly hung-over and moping. i am confused and contemplating many options. i have a bad tendancy to live in my head, which means i think about things until i can see every single aspect and perspective and wind up not acting at all.
i am planning to do something i rarely do - write a love poem. and it's typical - that love done gone and lost itself and now i'm drivin' and cryin' sort of a thing. i want it to be good, however, because i need to communicate some things to someone who still rattles around in my head, someone who i cannot walk up to and say "hey, i wanted to let you know..." it's all too convoluted in my head still, i've got no clear perspective. i want to write a poem that makes this person understand all the things that swirl around in my head - that they pop up in my dreams, that after seeing them i am strangely unable to accept the confines of my actual life as acceptable, that i worry they will hurt me and take advantage of what is partially an infatuation. i generally shy away from people i feel infatuated with; they have power over me and this makes me extremely insecure and wary. it's rare that i drag my romantic fantasies on this long. i need to stop thinking of it as Love and start realizing that there is just love. we are just people, and we make mistakes and hurt people we care about and act like asses all the time. part of me can't help but want that big disney-princess-promise of ever after with ease. the credits roll so no one has time for dissatisfaction.
not being much of the domestic, settled-down type i am constantly amazed at how many of my relationships revolve around this... vibe, so to speak. and i'm getting really sick of people fucking patronizing me, and then excusing it by saying i'm cute. the compliment doesn't let you off of the hook for treating me like a child.
ugh. what a fucking ramble. i could probably go on like this all day, but i want to go smoke a cigarette, come back to my desk of my office-space existence and do my work with my headphones on... trying not to think of how i layed in bed last night, feeling my heart pound with something more than dehydration, and tried not to think of how your hands used to move over my body, how i'd tuck my chin into your chest and feel special.