Merlot and Dr. Pepper

So I didn't get a synthesizer.
Bummer, but I went to Steve's today to check out the sales for this generous day that is boxing, day and wasn't surprised. They cost more then Elizabeth's ass.
Maybe I'll just get a keyboard.
But, I got an ipod from the family. I've already lost a few. A pattern is occurring.
Went down to the market, all the best stores were locked. Got into a few, gave up and bought a burrito. The ultimate give-up.
That's been christmas. Mixed with a bit of redundant parties, some 20-some great aunts, and the best sweet potatoes freedom can afford and Christmas is just as glamorous as New York City's'.

Side note, Merlot and Dr. Pepper. Aces.

I was scared, for so long because I felt like that immaculate, uncensored, honest feeling of this season had outgrown me. When you're family doesn't laugh at everything you say because what you say isn't innocent, because they know you aren't oblivious, because they treat you like an adult because you are one. It really is the worst, when the people you thought loved you the most were so gentle and courteous because you were young, you were fragile. You're a young adult now you've basically been to Vietnam, Germany, and Iraq- your treated as a veteran. You know life sucks, they know it too, you mutually fall upon a silent agreement that talking for the sake of talking won't propel any of your conversations. So they ask,

"How's your acting going?"

"Good, really good. Doing the best I can."

"Oh of course, don't forget us when you're famous."

Clever.

And every single one of them means it differently when they say it. So it never dries.

And in the midst of those redundant parties with the great aunts and uncles, and my Merlot and Dr. pepper my little cousin grabs my arm and pulls me into the other room, and tells me to play with her.

"Play what?"

"Play!"

And I knew what she meant. And I told her we were in the jungle and we were hunting for treasure. And we had ballgowns on, and we had puppies, and the treasure would take us to Disney Land. And that lasted a good 30 seconds. Not surprisingly.

So now we're playing house. She's my dog, I'm her lovable owner.

And I'm watching her crawling on the ground and I'm looking out into the other room at the great aunts and uncles and I'm thinking.

They treat her like a princess. I know where she is right now, fuck it's the best feeling in the world when people fuss over you and give you just what you asked for. You get your synthesizer. She's only 6 but she will remember every single Christmas. Because everyone is here, because this is the only time she will get what she wants. She's forever away from having to make choices, having to suck it up and grow up.
And I want to leave her because I'm bored but I can't, because I have to give this to her, I have to let her play. No one else will, and I guarantee she will remember this Christmas for the rest of her life, because I gave her what she wanted. When you're young it's never the gifts you remember or when you're older, miss, but it's just when you're given more love then you will ever feel for the rest of your life. People can't help but love you when they know you don't know better.

That feeling will never leave her.

So I saw her, and I saw that point in my life in Aunt Dorothy's basement, and I surrounded by relatives I didn't know and didn't really care for but who loved me effortlessly. And I felt it all again. I think there's a lot you can let go of. Memories that will always leave you. These ones don't. Don't hunt them down and ring them dry. Just feel the wave when it hits you, for however many seconds that is.

Take away for Today:
Leah Hennessey and Max Lakner
http://babymanque.com/index.html

Heaven told me it would hate me

Pouring a martini into a coffee mug is so satisfying. If the heat won't be there to warm you the burn will, and the familiarity of a toasty mug is complimentary. The comfort of the two together is enough milk ones way into addiction. Which is an issue i fear I'm battling currently. The mug makes it easier to drink, and far less casual. Casual would be with a stem attached to the bottom. Habit is an ikea mug, a zip up hoodie and Seinfeld. So i'm working my way into an illness, and it startles me, but not as intensely as say an addiction to tobacco would. I worry about the smell of cigarettes, i realize I'm not going to reek of alcohol on Monday morning. Perhaps I will one day. For now i enjoy fruity mixes and red wine. White wine tastes like liquid gravol. Sorry lovers.
And then there's the friends who smoke. No i don't know if i like to smoke with neighbours. I don't spin. I like spinning. It's wicked obvious as well. It billows. I speak 7 years pre current age. Sub socialistic. Unopinionated and horrifyingly simple with dialect. It's a mock of the sapience and a farce of my poise. I am unknowingly conveying the unornamented version of me. Though hard to say, is no one i would put a name behind. And still, I will continue to, in isolation, use. By myself my mind is macabre. For the rest of my life then I will continue to enjoy chilled wine and bread. Simple food. Soul food. An addiction to une vive.
I could hide this addiction. I could fuck this addiction so hard.

Take away for today: http://www.parasolmag.com/

lovely. free. mindful.