edit

Edit: “Millsaps, get over yourself,” should read, “Millsaps suck a dick. Suck my dick. Suck any dick. Multiple. Thousands.”

I could never like the kid with scabbed or scratched and bleeding mosquito-bitten legs until I understood that, as of late, I am that kid. Oh, summer, you and your tricks.

sick

I owe Millsaps $30 in library late fees.
A. the way things are going, they’ll probably get that book in August
B. Clinton Public Library always seems to wave my late fees.. always. because it’s only like a dime a day.

Millsaps get over yourself.

pound sign

Sleeping patterns are skewed, but my heart still clings to the night, where it’s okay to sit for hours in Kerry’s gazebo, feeling my hair conform to the humid and laughing about the way our trending topics (#indiekidsjackson) matter so little in the great scheme of the twitterverse. And there are drawings too, of each of us, and the plans we make. Questions at midnight to answer in crayon. What terrifies you most on this lovely day? It isn’t DMB or the second coming of Elliott Smith or another semester at college, but the slow realization that I may or may not be experiencing the last of the holy summers, where the sweltering months have a  spirit and time of their own.

Just waiting on letters, now.

real time

Half-way through June already, and all I did today was reconnect with this keyboard and people watch at Chickfila for two hours. Maybe the single goal of my afternoon was to download Urban Outfitters’ latest 23 free songs, and maybe that’s okay, because the lemonade was dericious and the sun is still out, and will be for at least another hour. Hell yeah I had a good Monday. Running on reserve now.

Um, twitter?

fuggetaboutit

Flipping through Inspiration by Tricia Guild right now, which means that my thoughts basically equate to Twonkies masquerading as Twinkies, glorified everydayness. Mason jars are lamps of fireflies to remind me of all the times I walk into Anthropologie and fall for everything, despite that lurking sensation that I could find it all at Goodwill; if I only took the time to sift through endless heaps of skorts and VCRs.
Tricia, your book might look pretty hip, but I’d rather make lists and explore old photo albums in mama’s living room while she’s out of town than lie to myself about how I’ll paint porcelain and appreciate the colors of India and 1950s Paris. I love that one of her from college, when she had long hair and sassy boots that she would wear tomorrow if she had them.

nothing better to do

The sun came out around noon today after a heavy rain. When I opened my front door and that eighty degree steam hit me, I thought, this is Mississippi. When it was really sunny, I ran through a corn field, because I’ve never done that before, and cornfields are Mississippi, too.

third grade

I remember being really embarassed at my ninth birthday party when I was the only girl who brought a sick v-neck to tie dye, but now I realize that this was only typical.

dream weavin’

I dreamt of a weird yacht rock night club. Whitney and Phil were there. Mitchell, too, but he was not having a good time. and I was not capable of having a good time because there were too many things in my pockets.

This dream means so much about my life, I just don’t know it yet. probably something like I’m holding on to too many things, and they’re spilling out of my hands, despite my sticky fingers. that’s what needs to happen. Lose yourself and you’ll be found. right? The fact that this all takes place in a yacht rock night club just emphasizes how my life is laughable, to say the least, and Mitch not having fun? Well, of course that’s how it goes. he’s an old soul.

porch

I saw the first firefly of summer last night. He was lovely.

mayes street moonshine

I love summer. even though it’s way too hot. I need a sunburn or two. just to keep it real.