We middle-class candy junkies swap sweets and colorless smiles, eating animals with faces unseen, exchanging mild attempts at humor and courtesy. i am one of them, even in genuine gestures of affection, under constant surveillance of my monstrous lack of awareness. i feel so out of touch.

i'm just a silly woman who's more content with a small mind; knowing less equals more belief in this assumption of control. i am always one slip away from being another one of "them"... What i am and what i do makes little difference as a bitty byte on someone's bottom line except to those people to whom i am responsible and that i could or do love and they make all the difference in the world.

i miss feeling like i could fly. i miss you. In the midst of my well-managed world, i miss you.
Names and faces. Names and faces. Names and faces with empty feelings for me...

Wonder(ing) Woman

Tonight kisses my face and hands with a mild chill.
i'm almost comforted by the abundance of doughy belly belting my waist despite making these jeans impossibly unstable against jelly padded curves. i want to be beautiful in a pure crystalline, contoured way but losing my squishy warmth seems nakedish and pulsing vulnerable.
Comfort is central in my sense of tranquility because to me comfortable means both content and able to comfort.
Can i become captivating and charismatic without losing my ability to console and be considerate?
Can i embrace my potential for beauty without drowning in a nexus of competitive conceit?
i want to be a wondrous paradox: dually light-hearted and taken seriously.
Pretty, funny and pretty fucking smart.

Pixelated Pixie Dust

Living with a portrait of my previous view of perfection is sweet poetic justice.
Lyn is the maternal figure i fantasized about and the poise and maturity i attempt to achieve. The sadness of heroes makes me more sure of the journey and the service journalism i've chosen for myself yet more scared of another wreck of sputtering on empty.

A phone call yesterday reminded me of the chaos i've escaped and the sweetness of my current simplicity. There is so little room left for regression and so much to be reckoned.

Still, my happiness continues and the stability of Stephen's ongoing devotion remains the novel end to my dreamy days. i continue to wait for the sparkling bubble to burst into a sad soapy puddle but both my cozy new company and and my old stickysweet honeypie continue to cradle me into a sense of security that scares me.
How to progress on this redhot high wire of happiness without slipping into a self-made noose?
i still mourn lost friends and seek resolution to dueling dualities. Actively disciplining myself with strength and balance needs to be my new way and not just some slogan from a Foxy TV news affiliate. What path is there for an growing autodidact who has already outgrown the small shoes left to fill?

The Shattering Shambles of Amoeba Girl

All these academic papers cut my schedule into fractions of a second that i'm only content wasting.

My hard-earned life lessons are getting swept away as footnotes in a paper sea of other students' attempts to swim upstream in the bureaucratic giant that is College. i don't matter to a single member of the faculty even as i fly from the nest in these next few weeks. Just fleeting faces i can scarcely attach names to. i only think of people i love and the most of them that i never get to see.

Even after 4 almost solid years of school and 3 of parttime work, student loans and hungry credit cards still steal every potential penny. This life seems to come prepackaged with debt and regret. i just want to be confident in my decisions and earlier this week, i couldn't even decide if my most important choice was worth keeping around.

The next few months i'm on my own personal probation to figure out what i want to be with my life and "pretty" will not be an acceptable ambition.