9:21 AM - Mar. 27, 2004
it's saturday, i'm at work, eyes wide open at blue chalkboard all dusty since i haven't erased in several hours. the hydrangea on my shelf says there is wisdom in Michelle Branch so i remove the bottlecaps and listen and let my teeth in the space between crank up the volume until even St. Jude starts to rock out on my desk and waste another moment and i realize that everything i do to my beige lampshade i do. if i make it cry. if i make it wait months for the brown carafe it longs to love, it's my fault. or not fault. but to all the doing i want to say there's a perfectly decent yellow Sanford highlighter sitting right next to you that is here all the time, and colors well, and marries to anything paper well, so why not just forget the brown carafe since after all, coffee is so 80's... and even Michelle Branch has my knee going metronome at 140 even though i know it's only 70 at best, maybe 60 but my tongue and lips and cheeks want the day at 140, the wind is cool, the air is gravy, the windows are hot and my fingers are itching to punch and poke and probe and you know books on a friday night are for those afraid to do anything dangerous. sometimes, i drive with my eyes closed.
