i know i've already posted today, but i cannot get over the view that is just outside my door. i get to see this glorious landscape even when just walking home from the grocery store. texas, i just don't think i could ever miss you (except for your mexican food).  soul is so fulfilled and swept perpetually.

thoroughly freaked out. stephanie & i both had one gift that was not going to make it by xmas, even though we both ordered them near the beginning of december. since today marks the eve and we both knew we wouldn't have said gift yet we decided to open an image of what the gift was on our computers and then close them/trade for each other to open at the same time. and to put it modestly - both our faces dropped entirely at the precise same moment. as you will see in the image below:

for her, from me: a gray hoodie with the dr. who tardis printed on it in the center.
for me, from her: a gray hoodie with a moon umbrella printed on it in the center.

and to make it not any less eerie at all - we both have very similarly sized presents under the tree for tomorrow. this shall be interesting.

  

can't dream because my skull is tingling like your foot does when it's asleep. so instead i'm flipping through old photographs. mind looping. creating its own reveries by piecing together all the rectangular 4x6 relics in my hard-drive like broken bones which i quiveringly unearth as some archeologist of memory. i don't know if this is any easier than just fighting my eyelids.

i keep saying it, and i keep falling through. but i must start writing again. mostly to keep my memories close in this time of vast transition. this morning we saw the first snow of the season. it was so delicate and seemed to float in a gravity defying paradox. i just kept staring into it, waiting for it to swoop me up and swallow me whole. i was so rapt that my fingers froze through and i could hardly move my bones, but i managed just enough shaky strength to form my very first compact ball of the fluff in my life, then proceed to throw it at my darling. and we both laughed when it hit, but then i felt immediately awful because in my inexperience from existing most of my life in texas i was unaware of how painful a seemingly innocent snowball could be. but now i know and am anxiously awaiting the next snowfall. this time i will follow it's lead, be more gentle. make an angle or something.

"bonsai, bonsai, it's better to write than die." - patti.

her love is the blanket so beautifully molded beneath my skin that i cannot help but wake with its imprints upon my body.