Some poetry for your Coca Cola

I wish I was a true soul, a new soul without a heart to wander with.

I wish I were dark and deep
within air that's thick with leaves that blow
in rhythms that glow in what is unseen,
I wish I were between
the black that makes the air sweet with rain
and makes you feel at peace with mystery and fear,
at home in the unknown,
high on wine or love that doesn't know love,
I want to feel lost but safe in the mystery-
to feel the heat of summer nights
and its thickness supple in my skin,
high within me.

I wish it were in me to be more than the night,
to feel the stark contrast of brisk mornings
with glazed sleepiness over coffee new as snow
with grass awakened by dawn,
I wish I was on a routine,
with pens and paperclips,
paintbrushes neatly aligned in the cleanliness of a room washed in sunlit windows
with plants as my furniture,
I wish that I could be content enough with that.

To not find solace
in embrace of mystery and desperate affection from the equally lost,
with music being the only friend,
I wish I could not wish anymore,
to just be and to know,
to find affection in what I sow, not eat cake.
Drink dark deep beer to the bottom of a glass into the hollowness of myself,
I wish I could be myself
instead of letting the levity of alcohol play puppeteer.

I wish I were here,
to appreciate the feel of my shoes,
the sounds of tinkling piano,
to feel an inner beat that steals the fullness of my heart and need,
to make me move, to move and be at home in being alone.
To be ok with glad and sadness.
To be ok with all my badness,
I want to encompass my displacement and my soul's pressure building like a balloon
and whisper it out into a feeling contrived and true,
deliver it to you.

The feeling of a compliment,
the feeling of flattery to your lips,
irreplaceable affection unique and self-aware,
I want, I need, I must, I cant.
Never and always.
I am no longer.
I is replaceable and impersonal.
I is universal and all mine.
But it isn't.
It is yours.
I am yours.
Tomorrow is years and yesterday.
It is familiar, irreplaceable, a glimpse of all, a passing thought.
I choose nothing.
I am.
I do.
What can I say about this?
I can't about anything.

I am insignificant to all, for time will weather me down to dust, you to dust, this to dust.
My affections are sighs lost in a second amongst infinity.
They are priceless.
Nothing and everything.
Like brushing my fingertips in the palm of your hand while you dream.
I don't exist.

Well.

Today is a better day, and my mood is far more elevated than the morose self-pitying entry below and my skin is in a better mood too.
These are good things. Today's agenda includes some much needed housecleaning, it's amazing what the accumulative affects of slacking off can be and to see how many glasses I use on a given day. I also may be paid a visit by a good friend, a Mr. John Lair.
We had a great phone conversation last night, as good friends do, covering the topics of life, geese, and Carol King. And pancakes.
Which I am about to have in approx. 5 minutes, and boy they smell delicious. Too delicious to finish writing this.

So.

If you think your week was shitty, that you have punished your body with finals or the gluttony of spring break,
think again.
Better yet, thank your lucky stars and laugh at me being a ding-dong poor bastard and realize your life is probably pretty flippin good in comparison.

To elaborate, the first of many things that made this my shitty week was:

1.)A cold.

A cold in and of itself is not a bad thing. This I can live through just fine and be perfectly content and happy. It was the:

2.)Systemic poison oak spread to the inside of my ears and nose

that made it slightly miserable, the stuffed up sinuses aggravated by itchy poison oak blisters really doing it for me.
How I got systemic poison oak all over my body is a mystery.
I went up to my boyfriend's parents' place to start our new project of building a guesthouse for them, and since we're building it in the woods, I figured there was bound to be poison oak. I get poison oak just by looking at it funny, so I took extra precaution by covering up every exposed part of my body like a good girl, stayed out of areas I thought may have it, and made sure I took a shower with technu soap afterward.
This to no avail.
Two days later, with a cold and a poison oak sprouting up like springtime in ungodly places, I went to the doctor and was prescribed:

3.) Steroids.

The problem with steroids, other than making me loopier than little latin Lou, is that they are probably as affective as meth or cocaine in putting someone to sleep. As a result, this week I have routinely laid awake until 5 in the morning getting an average of 2-3 hours of sleep a night.
Awesome sauce.
Another thing about steroids I have come to find out, or having poison oak for that matter, is that you are also not supposed to be out in the sun while you are on them, which is why:

4.)Snowboarding all day in the hot sun without sunscreen and cooking my face

was probably a big fucking mistake.

So, laugh.
Be merry.
Thank your lucky flippin stars.
But most importantly, enjoy your spring break and if you don't have one, still be thankful you did not have my week.