Sunday, January 23, 2011

I have discovered the reason..

 ..why falling asleep on amma on the couch is
a) so easy and b) always a so much better kind of sleep.

One thing is that the positioning is perfect. Just exactly right: my head, my leg, my arm fit seamlessly into her side. I think it's instinctive; I know how to attach myself against her without having to squirm or push or scoddle around. Click. Sit, snuggle, fit. Even my glasses don't poke her, 'tis so whipsy-smooth. The second thing is her breathing. In, out, in, out- it's a rhythmic, soothing metronome, something to latch a subconscious self on. Like waves on a beach, a dull roar you can send your breath back and forth upon. And then there're the obvious things: the way she smells, how she is just squishy enough, the sound her laugh makes inside her skin, how she doesn't ask a plethora of annoying questions when i don't feel like talking, how she lets me poke her and bite her and squeeze her arms hard enough for to prove to myself she is real and not leaving and also to sort of leave my print on her. MINE. Love is not a gentle little lullaby, love is a bite that leaves a purple tooth-mark and a slight ringingsinging somewhere behind your ribs. It's a good feeling to know I have someone I can impose myself upon forever- one person who will always be home for me, who will remember, who will let me bite and pull ugly faces and burrow into her, one person who will never tell me that she's too busy, that she doesn't have time, that she's in a hurry, that she isn't interested or doesn't care. I am always special, always loved, always safe. Amma is the one place where i can truly belong.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Dear, drama queen.

I don't hate you. I just want to slice your head open, very delicately. Mop away the blood with a perfumed tissue, pretty pink in color. I want to inspect your brain with a blade, stolen from a pencil sharpener. I want to dissect each grey curve, and see where you hid your brain cells. They must lie in a dusty recess of your skull, untouched, unused.

Oh drama queen, grow up before I sharpen my knives.


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

That miserable…

I was just reading through my posts and realized that to an absolute stranger who base their opinion of me solely on my blog, I would come across as one heck of a depressed soul. I’m not really that depressed. No really, I’m not. I just find anger, sadness and other negative emotions to be my best inspirations to write. But considering this is what will be left of me once I die, I think it’s time to make a conscious effort to write more cheerful posts. So I pledge to do just that, or to try to anyway.