Winner! in bright, bold orange letters. Every year can be better than the next. The vibrating of my cell phone reverberates through the black wood of my desk, reaching even into my wrists on piles and piles of books, and it's comforting because someone loves me enough to want to talk to me. A jar full of money looks rather imposing until you look closer and realize they're all ones and you're not as rich as you hoped.
This summer, I'm going to climb a mountain and sing a hymn into Colorado air, I'm going to sit on a hill and blow bubbles into the early July air, I'm going to dream of ice cream until I'm standing in front of that little shop and that precious old man who owns it, and I'm going to return to my true love. I have a cappuchino candle on my table and it makes the air smell of sophistication.
Stress is a little like a giant elephant standing in a room that I try to avoid until it steps on my toes and I can't help but cry. Jars of Lipsmackers tell you that even though she was the only girl, she was still a girl. Jars of pens tell you even though she's the only watercolor rainbow in a world of ROY G BIVs, she was still an artist and would be until the world ended.
Beauty gained and lost, taller, shorter, thicker, thinner-- people change and they're still the same even though they're completely different in every way, inside and out.
Gears and chains are always a fabulous fashion choice.
The war has already begun. Have you ever really thought about that? Have you every really considered that you against the world means that no one is on your side? Have you ever really realized that some things you can't help but fight for, and sometimes you've got to fight to the death?
Have you ever been truly afraid and faced that fear?
Mine is a world of comfort and luxury. Sometimes I steal the 3D glasses that cost me three stupid dollars at the movie theater, instead of recycling, because I paid money for those and why would I give them back? A book called A Writer's Companion sits on the antique white bookshelf in the corner of his great-grandmother's room, but do writers even have companions? A plush red chair under a lime green loft bed invites her to curl up into it and fall asleep on a lazy afternoon. The January air is frigid but what isn't these days?
A tape player screeches as it wakes from its ancient sleep. The sun was out this morning at eight o clock, he told me, perhaps earlier. Funny how whatever he spends his time on he somehow comes to regret. Life is too short. Decisions are too imperative. But she's never told him, and would he listen if she did?
Nothing is more beautiful than the hum of a car on a warm summer's night, with the windows open and a philosophical quiet settling over her inhabitants.
The choice is hard to make when you are not so sure it's what you want to do. But who says you're the only one who has to decide?
Just musing. It's been a long day.
Christina Kuri Icarus