default: one

the mattress is a pillow-top, my first. freshly laundered linens, the right kind of detergent. I can never place it when I'm looking to purchase, it smells like the home of my childhood best friend. Grape soda, curly fries, laundry detergent.
there are windows on the north and east sides of the room, the walls themselves brought closer by the king size bed. four wooden posts, a steam trunk at the end, wash basin on the dresser, rocking chair tucked into the corner. it is a farmhouse, through and through.
breakfast is cooking over the fire outside, we can hear the clatter of everyone beginning to rouse. the deep smell of cedar and age coupled with the linens and crisp air, I can't bring myself to consider moving vertically. I roll over twice before we collide, and then continue steamrolling just for kicks. good morning, good morning, wake up. I don't remember hearing birds, but there must have been birds. it seems such a given for the circumstance.
but maybe the smoke from the fire has kept them away. we burnt a couch the night before, garbage disposal at its finest. I stole a button from the upholstery before we lit it, intending to make a pin. something to attach to my denim later. I don't know where it is now, the bottom of a Rubbermaid, maybe. the trash, probably.

later in the day, we are sitting on the beach. there are families abound, we are tattooed and misplaced. I have insisted on an ice cream cone, mint chocolate chip, but it melts at the same rate as my interest.
the water is inviting enough, silent enough. few have ventured in past getting their toes and cankles wet. leaving my cone to the seagulls, I wade in, he joins quickly after. or maybe not quickly, maybe I was already gone, and with me, my sense of time.

and then we are spinning, and all I ever want is to be spinning. legs around his hips and his hands on the small of my back, my hair fully submerged. arms extended over my head, fingertips and then forearms graze the water as we whip around, and I cannot keep from laughing. it is an ecstatic, body laugh. I could spin forever, though we don't.

keep me dizzy or keep me dreaming.

woke up to a grey day, made the most. it feels good to run.

overload?

commence nights of sleeping with the window open, birds in the morning. i can hear cars splish-splashing their way along the street, the wet slap of heavy walkers on pavement. 

to the city of lights soon enough, but for now, this.

Transcendently stoned

"but the stairs; what was that?"

never where the dogs bark

boyfriend at home > boyfriend on tour

Olfactory association

Smells like old eggs : sulphur in the water : well must be low : no laundry tonight : watch your shower length : hand wash the dishes : wait for rain. Find yourself standing by an elevator miles away, waiting for rain.

I misused 'ubiquitous' a couple of posts back and I've been stressing about it way hard but I can't bring myself to correct it in the actual post because a) that seems dishonest and b) fuck it, right? I made a mistake. LET IT GO, BRAIN.

Plus, I have bigger concerns at the moment. Like the bf being on the same continent again (you mean tights aren't pants anymore? EFF.) and the logistics of roasting a pig.

Joe takes pretty great photos, and when I brought him home for Christmas eve hangz (no Christmas orphans ever), I didn't even realize he'd snuck this one of me reading. Roaring fireplace, snow for days.

11.08 pm, in a 24-hour Tim Hortons with a hurricane of spreadsheets and jumble of numbers (how cute would the word 'numbles' be?) and they didn't even put whipped cream on my mocha but that's totally good because I just realized there's (invisible) zit cream on my face and I haven't washed my hair in 9 days but super killin that cute-girl-with-too-much-work-and-not-enough-time look. Moccasins as ubiquitous as highlighters.

just existing, today.

i cried because i hate the flavour of my toothpaste and because, i don't know, i'm bored?