Tuesday, June 10, 2008

My cousin has a fish you can see through.
and I don't approve of the mini-eel.

"Rani, are you texting with one finger?"
"Mmmmaybe... is that not cool?"
"Mmm. That's just... different. That's good that you do that, Rani."
Thank you, fifteen year old cousin.

It's good to be in this house again.

Loud and whiny, my uncle is a walking TV show. He thrives on the stress that his presence creates. Thank you for existing, Uncle Steve. You're even cooler for knowing all of the words to Candy Shop and for wearing your grandmother's glasses because you lost yours.

My aunt is beautiful. Her hair was made to match her personality and she never sits still. When I ask her how she is, she responds, "we're..."
She gets a little bit lost in her love for her kids.

(some hours later)

On the airplane.
The grids below inspired so many pages of the sketchbooks of my youth.

(more hours later)

I forgot I lived in a dome of stars. I found Polaris. Take that.

My brother is a hyper he's never been before. He thinks its a good thing. He thinks its a great thing. But I'm not sure. I kind of miss him. He's productive, yes. But productivity isn't a ticket to contentedness.
Maybe this is good. I should give him room to change. If life is a bike, I'm gripping the handlebars tighter than I ever have before, he says.

My house feels the same. My closet looks the way it did when I was 16. My jars of pens and vintage coke bottles look the same plus a layer of dust.
James Dead, Elton John, Howlin Wolf... I missed these men that live on my wall.
I'm relieved to find that my shelf of songs from the '80s that my parents think should have stayed in the '80s is exactly where I left it and looking as rad as ever.

My black curtains still blow in the wind and I'm a little bit happy to be home.

My heart isn't light but living feels pretty good. I turned up the music and opened the window. These new days are going to be a lot different than the ones that came before today.

But that's alright.

I still don't like straight lines.

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