Saturday, May 19, 2012

Poor banana

Today I went on a great run and got an amazing facial and made lunch for my darling girlfriends and went to the temple (and it was nice and very holy) and performed in a beautiful play. Then I came home and cried my false eyelashes right off. Literally...they slipped off my lids and down my lashes due to my powerful, seemingly bionic, glue-eating tears.

Why, you ask? Is your uterus bleeding? Are you a victim of a sublime, destructive unrequited love? Are you just bored and tired and inferior and lonely?

yes yes yes.
 But I'm also a beneficiary of a very nice life.
So why is it such a poor, sad, desperate little banana?


The thought occurred to me while I was dish washing today, this very nice little day, that I need to start writing.
I need to start writing.

What should the poor banana start writing about? She's awfully tired of her weepy little self. 

Monday, May 7, 2012


I'm eating my cereal with a fork, but that's fine because I HATE soy milk and want to taste the least amount of it as I possibly can.

In other news...
I graduated from college (big wup).
I jumped out of an airplane (bo-rring).
I received an awful lot of rejection letters (cool).
I had a few existential crises here and there (what's new?) and took this picture of the lovely, consistent spring weather:

I took some more Holgas in Moab:

Ally Snack and me

Every time someone said "there's cairn" I said, "who's Karen?" 
...And I meant it.
Everyone seemed to know her.

I'm trying to decide what to do now.
It's cool because I can technically do anything (nothing tying me down, dontcha know), and yet the rejection letters and bank account seem to say that I can't. I wish I was some sort of economical genius and could create a large, glittery loophole that created a huge demand for my skill set. You know, like, watching clouds and taking long showers and stuff.



I want to carry you
and for you to carry me
the way voices are said to carry over water.

Just this morning on the shore,
I could hear two people talking quietly
in a rowboat on the far side of the lake.

They were talking about fishing,
then one changed the subject,
and, I swear, they began talking about you.

Billy Collins

that's all, folks


Blog Widget by LinkWithin