Today, since I am too gimped to do any work – or almost anything – I went to the Museum of Fine Arts with my sister. We saw the Pompeii exhibit. I bought some adorable espresso cups and saucers. I wish I could use my hand.
(Scooter did not enjoy having a sticker on his forehead. In fact, I’m pretty sure he was mortified. Oops.)
I haven’t been to work in two and a half days. I started crying on the phone with my boss this morning. I have had a migraine since Tuesday. It was so terrible today that I finally had to venture to the corner and get some Excedrin. The headache subsided but then I started to feel sick to my stomach more. And a bit shaky.
I called my sister and she went to the grocery with me. I almost threw up, going out in public. I wore about four layers of clothing, even thought it was 90 degrees outside. And muggy like always. I saw a frog on the sidewalk. It was so cute. I haven’t seen a frog in a long time. Cute little frogs.
I have a date with Ley tomorrow. We’re going to see Sex and the City (no, I have never seen the television show, but she wants to see the movie, so I said okay). And then we’re going to spend the afternoon at IKEA. Yay. ^_^
Falcon sent me some CDs. The entire Andrew Bird collection. Isn’t that so cool of him? He’s the best. We are finally caught up on LOST. And I have officially decided that I really really would like to have an action figure of Benjamin Linus. He is so awesome and hilarious. I want him on my desk so he can stare at me with his creepy, buggy little eyes.
My headache is coming back.
I took that photo back when I was trying to get a good shot of my tattoos. The reason I didn’t like it before is because it didn’t catch my bracelets, which I think complete my wrists (which is weird, but whatever). I looked at this photo again and realized how much it resonates with me at the moment. In hiding.
I haven’t slept in my bed in over a month, I think. I’m not really sure anymore. I don’t really like going upstairs in my townhouse, but I’m not exactly sure why. All I know is that every time I am bothered to go up there, I hurry to get back down.
I am completely entrenched in fingerstyle acoustic guitar music and it seems to be all I want to listen to. I find myself immersed in it. Floating in it. Dreaming in it. Sleeping in it. Peaking in it. Why does it speak to my soul so wholly? Why does it seem to be able to find the very pinpoint of my emotions? Why does it offer me clarity when nothing else does? It holds me rapt, like nothing else.
Sparks. They fly. They are the catalyst. They are the reaction. They are the attraction. They are the source. They are the result. They are plenty. They are never enough. They make me giggle. They make me weep. They melt me. They burn me. They feed me. They bleed me dry. Sparks.