worn to a shadow

growing up like young peter pan.

no more drinking for this rodeo star. even after swearing round and round to myself that i would comport myself well this weekend, i missed anne hathaway betraying emily blunt in the devil wears prada because i was puking in the garbage can outside the theatre. and when i could manage, in the ladies' room toilet. gross and unladylike, i know. not to mention, the waking up drunk in a den of slack. oh wait, did i say slack? i meant weed and blackberries.

but, okay. london and paris in september. september is the new january, and two years out of college is the new 30. living for fashion magazines, pin-straight hair, muscle death from my personal trainer, peace of mind from my facialist, scones with clotted cream and jam, insomnia, unconscious flirtation...and my membership in the leisure class.

does jt's new "sexyback" song not totally evoke, in a fun troglodyte way, "monster mash"?

would really love to bake these brownies, already, and send my care package to my now 3rd graders in korea. would so love that. mmmmmhm.

sweet internet access

been watching a lot of news lately. thusly, trying to suck in my diction like a gut. so it will be as elegant as a blade (itself merely by dint of being very, very thin).

last night a dream about a church that only bedraggled hipsters attended. i tried to run away in that shambling rooted to the ground gait of dreams. somehow i seem to be rising above things. in my childhood dreams of flight it was so easy. and aquatic. pumping my arms to rise uncontrollably above the trees, the buildings ... but i never used to be afraid.

at woodbury a few weeks ago i gave up my red habit. ivory, now.