Addressing the Court

Exhibit A has to do with how I look tired all of the time. No matter when or at which angle you find me. I am pretty sure I was born with dark semi-circles under my eyes and I have photographic evidence of them being ever-present from about 3 years old.

I don't know what this says about my spirit, or my previous lives.

I only know that it caused the lady at the donut shop down the block to worry overmuch about my love life. In her mind I should have just been drinking lots of pineapple juice, getting married to a nice man who would treat me like a flower and commencing a life of not tripping very hard.

I thought her advice was so kind that I didn't have the heart to tell her that I've been looking exhausted for as long as I can remember.

Or that she was forcing me to consider whether she was just seeing the me I have always been or seeing something new I'd decided to identify with, cause it's not like I've stopped collecting ideas about how to be yet. It's not like I'm not still a work in progress.

Exhibit B is purely the feelings caused by the fact that I spent a very long time telling myself that I would be just fine one day. I'd be perfectly happy as soon as I had enough money. As soon as I had a fancier job where I could work on being a superstar.

What I mean is that Exhibit B is my current state of ennui. Or disappointment. Disenchantment? Everything that comes up when I realize that I got all of those things I thought would make it alright. I got all of them. And I'm still not hearing birds chirp when I get up in the morning. I still come home every night and think for a second

What do I do?

before falling into some routine. Something comfortable and geared toward keeping me afloat and In The Game.

I need my rest. I need time to veg out. I need something good to eat. I need exercise. I need sleep.

Those things.

By the time I start wondering what to do again I'm falling asleep, which has lots to do with why my dreams are all love-related lately. How I can't shake dreaming about the dreamiest boys I know and the dreamiest boys I have yet to meet.

And then I wake up in the morning and it's the same old thing which isn't horrible but doesn't leave much room for intrigue, or passion, or head to toe tingles.

It's just 1 million text messages and conversations with representatives. And picking out jazzy outfits.

I'm not saying any of this is bad just.

Sometimes I want a little more, is all.