i almost forgot

i had the best day ever at the train yards a little while ago, and this is why

i totally thought i was dreaming

conor oberst and dead grandmothers.

you know when you're so happy it hurts and you're just eternally pinching that little sinkhole on the side of your wrist? yeah. it's a weird feeling. it's surreal. like when you can't differentiate your dreams and your sleepwalking from your reality. i was talking about that today in the hallway and i think i'm borderline terrified of losing all the borders of reality. they're comforting in a grotesque way. 

and i spent today sleepwalking i hate when i do that. i almost never do. i walked home all crooked and in the wrong direction and i watched all these hobos and hipsters that looked the same and i love the space inside of your hands. it's weird how i play your knuckles like piano keys that don't exist and you're always wondering whether or not you're dreaming. 

i miss my best friends. so so much. i feel like ive spent so much time sleeping lately and writing these sad epics about people who don't exist and i'm still deleriously happy, it just feels like the light wont stay in my eyes and im all dreary and dead before its even afternoon. i dont know. 

sometimes i feel like the ex boyfriends are on parade and every street corner theres someone who i dont know if i should say hi to or not in skinny jeans or carrying skateboards or looking generally sketchy and dirty. dirt gets me going like no other. im' serious, dirty hair and fingernails and im all over that. oooh and the ability to recite trent reznor lyrics or maybe connor oberst? That gets me too. i'm such a tool for boys and the inside of their hands, i love life lines. i should really learn to read palms or become a manicurist because i love touching peoples hands and wonder about all the little slivers of the world theyve touched and the montage slides past my eyes.

i downloaded the bright eyes discography and now every song i write is an ode to conor oberst. i feel like such an indie kid it makes me want to spill more paint on my pants so maybe ill camouflage into something different. 

but anyways i listen to poison oak when im on the edges of sleep and it makes me dream quietly. which is the best way in the entire world to dream. 

and i think it was maybe saturday when i was haunting that one frozen street corner and me and brad talked till 2 am.  i love when we do that, it's worth all the weird illnesses i have after i breathe in cold. i have the weakest lungs ever in the history of the world. this is probably because im my grandmother reincarnated, i live with all her crazy weaknesses and under her astrological sign. it just hit me how fucking much i miss her and i never even knew her. its the hardest to miss things you've never had but the missing just spins its way in between your blood vessels.

i like when you meet boys that you can breathe in forever. that's the best.

i just realize how disjointed this was

i hate how i trample over boys mindlessly. i should stop that. number one on my to do list. i promise.