cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

like i fit

This journal has been replaced with Ray Bolger’s crystals. Let’s see if anyone notices.

I thought a lot about writing something deeply profound and utterly romantic yesterday, but the truth is, I am neither of these things. At times, I am thoughtful and sentimental, but that isn’t the same.

Yesterday was a long day, and it was not profound, and it was not romantic, and my right eyelid is still twitching, and I kinda redesigned my mom’s website but not really.

I am looking forward to spending time with Ergazork tonight, shopping for boy clothes. I so rarely get to shop for boy clothes. The MSG never needs my help picking out great clothes for himself.

Last night, I walked past the antiques shop, the one I always walk past to gawk at the beautiful old black telephone in the window, and the telephone was gone. The whole arrangement was different, furniture and things I hadn’t seen before, much more modern than the telephone. It was like the telephone hadn’t ever existed; parts of my life are disappearing, like leaves slowly sinking in a lake. But were they really part of my life, or just things I wanted once and dreamed into being until I loosened my grip?

Sleep deprivation makes green very loud. I moved the green flashlight in my office out of sight because it was screaming at me. I try not to look at the wet lawn or dancing leaves.

The telephone in the window cost $345. $345 was printed in black letters on a small white tag that hung from string on the rotary dial. I liked that price because it was something I couldn’t afford, and its digits were sequential. Maybe I liked that price as much as I liked the telephone itself. It fit, for a time. Like I fit.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.

∞