Bad poetry, good luck
May 14, 2001tomorrow night i am reading some words and rima is singing some songs, so tonight we had a dress rehearsal in our living room — “dress rehearsal,” i called it, but really we were in our pajamas and i can assure you i won’t be performing in those. my pieces, of course, were mostly sad because all bad poetry is sad. (ok, so i actually like what i’m reading, but it is so dear to my heart that i am on the verge of having a coronary just thinking about it.) hers, because she is my comic relief, were hilarious, and i laughed so hard i collapsed on the futon, burying my head into the velvet pillow and holding my belly from bursting.
my mom helped me rearrange my bedroom so that it follows feng shui because, you know, good luck and all. but i didn’t tell her that i don’t believe in that. last week, i slept on the floor surrounded by boxes and dirty laundry and good things happened, anyway. the week before that, i lived in a dark box with wood panelling and a window that overlooked the kitchen counter and, still, i was happy.
this is how my life has changed in the past two weeks: i hear more music. i give more away. i say what’s on my mind. i make coffee in the morning. i wake up to sunlight.
a few minor adjustments here and there, and i would be the happiest girl alive, but i guess there needs to be something to keep for my dreams at night.