wooden llama painted in pink and green and purple stripes leers at me from atop my computer. sometimes it feels like everything is working together against me and i'm left with this dull empty feeling. nothing specific to bitch about -- i mean, i've already bitched about the things going on, but still. this. leaden. lump. in. my. gut.
is there ever hope? is there always hope and it's just hiding from me?
once upon a time, there was beautiful fall day in austin. you couldn't tell it was the season of terminal illness, the season right before death and decay and all that rot. the trees reached out with green leaves and my hair smelled of sunlight and heat and good sweat, the way hair smells when you've been in the sun too long.
i didn't question who i was or what i was doing. i didn't question my right to exist. i walked along a paved, nearly-dry creekbed and thought about the beauty of it all, the wonder of it all, and made small talk with my companion while part of my brain was lost in seeinghearingsmelling the day, locking it away so that, on a february night like tonight, when the world and the people in it are cold, i could pull out this postcard and hold it to me as i fall asleep.