Thoughts from January 31 2014
My birthday.
17.
Somehow I still feel like the red-cheeked-blonde-haired-counting-bugs-and-cigarette-butts 7 year old. I feel scared and reckless and young. I'm almost an adult now, but I can still remember when my biggest concern was whether or not someone would carry me into the house when I fell asleep on the car ride home. The days where I would sit and play under my bedroom window, collecting raspberries and peaches. Making up terrible stories about our Mexican neighbor and his sunken-in trampoline. Where I would carry around my porcelain dolls, brushing out their frizzy hair and trying to glue their toes back on. Where I would be sitting on the kitchen floor, playing with my fingers and running string and lint in between the tile grout; asking my mom if she believed in the tooth fairy and how God puts babies in her stomach.
Now I know all the answers to my naive child-like questions, but I still feel just as unsure about the unknown as I did when I was 7.
I'm scared to grow up.
I'm scared I'll feel disappointed forever.
Things in my bed tonight:
dictionary
movie case
lotion
blankets
2 half eaten poptarts
new ear buds
2 shirts
jacket
tv
pens
phone
walmart sack.
January 31 2015
Daily Haiku
Winter skies compress
She howls through the turning moon
How simple we are
