in my room

confession: i've lived in my own place now for nine months and just this week started to decorate my bedroom. sometimes i wonder if i am missing that one gene (just one?) that all other girls seem to have. what shall we call it? the nesting gene? the decorating gene? the obsessive need to make all surroundings aesthetically pleasing to one's self gene? i can give a great illustration of this gene at its best...this week at work, a man came to the bar and sat down, ordered a glass of wine and indicated that he was waiting for someone. a few minutes later his date took the seat next to him and immediately complained that the bar was too high (or the stools too low. she couldn't decide and it seemed to perplex her extremely that she couldn't figure out which had wronged her - the bar or the stool) i just smiled and said we just thought it was best to shorten the distance between the glass and the mouth. her date thought i was funny. she semi frantically looked around for a more suitable seating arrangement and chose a table right behind the bar. before she could settle, i watched as she switched the candle on her table with the one on a neighboring table (poor little tea light just wasn't up to par) and only then did she finally sit down and start perusing the wine list.

it may be another nine months before i find a bookshelf or two for my overflowing stacks of books lining my walls but at least i now have something hanging in my bedroom...

...R...

sofan

doctor: do you ever drink sofan?

me: what?

doctor: sofan do you ever drink it?

me: do i drink sofan? no i don't even know what that is.

doctor: good because soda...

me (interrupting her but she keeps going anyway): oh soda! yeah i do...(trailing off when i realize she isn't stopping on her anti-soda speech for me to tell her that i really do sometimes)

L.

i went to the mall to forget my problems.

to look for a sign that everything would be ok.

the universe has a wicked sense of humor.

--R--

the mailbox bandits

for awhile now the area that i live in has been the victim of mailbox bandits. they are most likely local teenagers, bored with life with nothing better to do than drive around and smash mailboxes. earlier this summer we thought the problem had been solved because some boys in their brand new truck with a brand new license got caught doing just that and the poor spoiled boy had to face his father and community service. apparently either he didn't learn his lesson, or there is another hoodlum looking to emulate this mastermind of a criminal.

a few weeks ago leaving my house on a sunday morning i noticed the mailboxes on either side of us were missing. my first thought was at least they missed ours and at least i got the mail. driving further down the street i noticed that ours might just be the only untouched mailbox. turning down the next street i found the same thing, battered mailboxes, some with mail strewn across peoples lawns. i began to worry that the only standing mailbox might weigh on the mailbox bandits mind until he returned to make sure we all new, he is here, he will not be ignored, he really doesn't like mailboxes. all the residents could do as they woke up that day was go out and pick up the pieces. now driving down our street is like driving through a mailbox hospital, all of them tied or taped down with dents and bruises some hanging on to their posts for dear life, cowering in fear. just like the mailbox bandits wants them too, and he will return, just when the last box and been righted and they are finally starting to settle on their posts again. he will return.

--L--

nobody gets me but you

(photo by R)

Nobody gets what I say,

Must be some way to convey,

But no-one else remembers my name,

Just the parts that i play.

Nobody gets,

Nobody gets me but you.

No-one gets what I've done,

Everyone else seems to look through.

Oh but maybe I've never wanted them to.

Couldn't count on it anyway.

Nobody gets,

Nobody cuts me like you.

Nobody gets what I say,

Those who know, those who lose.

Those who look trough.

Do they get me?

I thought they get me like you,

Oh no!

Nobody.

Nobody.

Nobody.

No.

Oh no-one.

-spoon

lines

(photo by R)

there are lines everywhere in life, and rules to keep us all acting uniformly. everyone calmly follow the person in front of you and do exactly what is expected. we are taught we should go to college to get a good job to make lots of money and have a big family and then at some point after working hard you may be able to retire and be happy doing what you want but probably you'll be too tired and tied down and you wont. life is hard and then you die. money makes the world go round and all that...

dear world, i don't want to go round with you or your money. if maybe you could spin really fast for a little while, and let all of the people who don't want to work to make someone else's life better or be told how to live know how to hold on, maybe everyone else will just spin off and float calmly away while counting their precious money...and yes that was a run on sentence, did i mention i don't like rules? --L--

Little bird, little bird, little bird, what d'ya hear?
The clink of morning cheers
Orange juice, concentrate
Crossword puzzles start to grate
One across
4 letter word it's just not sitting


Little bird, little bird, little bird, what do you see?
A picture perfect scene
Two tone lawns are manicured
The garden's wearing haute couture
It's trying to hard

Little bird, little bird, little bird, where are they now?
Daytime TV. lounge
A carriage clock, a mantelpiece
A family wiped up j-cloth cleaned
Unsaid, festers
In the throws of the sofa


Little bird, little bird, little bird, how are you feeling?
Like help in quarantine
Pearly white touch down smile
Absent creases round the eyes
Tell tale, hard sell, we smell rats in the kitchen



Little bird, little bird, little bird what can we do?
Think tank, think rescue
Simon says, Etch-a-Sketch
Some encoded message only he would get
Quickly now
'Cause this is not how it ends!



Little bird, little bird, little bird
Well I've got one more question
And I swear I'll let it rest

Little bird, little bird, little bird
Where have you gone?

-little bird, imogen heap