what you really need to hear

i'm in a very strange sort of mood.

i went to the dead poet's slam, which was wonderful, as always. it made me want to write poems, and to recognize that i don't know nearly enough to write poems. it made me want to do romantic things and ostentatious things and a lot of things i really am too practical for. i'm no romantic, though in the secret coves of my heart i like to pretend sometimes.

i should be freaking out over my conference tomorrow but i am strangely zen. (initially wrote sex instead of zen. don't know why. i am strangely sex.)

i spent most of the day in a somewhat-tizzy over going abroad. two months and one week from now i will be in a country i've never visited, staying with a family i've never met, meeting all new people, speaking a language i don't understand. none of that is metaphor, either.

i want to believe it will be wonderful. because it will.

"how can something 'was, was not, forever is?' i'd like to was, was not, forever is myself." - marie howe, on a line of a poem we read

told you it was a strange mood.

i don't know what proposals will take place in my life (so far none have), but i want one of them to happen in the rain. i love rain.

i want to go home, to eat good food, to feel comfort and the prospect of adventure. "you get a phone call: come home. soon." (another line from a poem, this one at the dead poets slam.)

i want to go home. i want to have a home that is mine and not someone else's. i haven't really created a life for myself, not yet.

i want the next two years to come out okay. i want to close my eyes at this, the start of the roller coaster ride, as the days rush faster and faster and where they land i don't know. i want to close my eyes and open them and be somewhere safe, and in love.