oh that meredith

all the mer that's fit to print.

Tag: Tomorrow is a brand new day

In which I build the world around me, this time, again.

I have bricks of furniture and walls.
Mortar mixed of paint and fabric.

I have foundations of nostalgia and desire.
Plumbing made of photographs and journals.

I’ve got wiring strung of taut muscles and dripping sweat.
Windows paned in age and eyelashes.

I have fancy hats and rolling pins.
Acres of books and whiskey.

There are more baskets than picnics we’ll ever take.
But at least one hanger per memory.

I have pens and pencils and markers to spare.
With lightness and being to float.

I’ve got spare rooms and bedrooms and enough room for you.
But Ms. Scarlett did it in the Conservatory.

With the rope.

I have baggage and sadness and sweetness to boot.
And boots and sandals and tears.

I have light down from fixtures of crystals and love.
Skeletons in closets of papier mâche.

The blades of my fans flex in the shrug of my shoulders.
With wind made of kisses and sugar and fear.

And then there’s my bed.

In which I rail against technology, (kind of) break my only promise & threaten to move North.

Today, my loves, magic happened. The ULTA fairy arrives on wings dusted in the latest fall colors, full of shimmer, shine and fruity lip gloss.

oh em eff gee package must open now squeeeee

oh em eff gee package must open now squeeeee

We all know how I feel about lip gloss.

Despite my whiny, sick afternoon, I knew I wasn’t too seriously ill, as my desire to open the package immediately was stronger than the desire to curl back up into a feverish ball in bed.

Magically (read: by way of purchasing online & waiting for delivery), in that beautiful box were two fabulously new hair tools, both of which, oddly enough, look like scary sex toys.

AND THAT’S WHERE MY STORY FUCKING ENDS.

Because the camera — the brand new camera — has decided to be an asshole. It has not yet presented me with its demands for ransom, but that’s all in good time, because I know — I KNOW — it has taken my photos hostage.

The hours I spent! Slaving over my hair! Playing with these new toys! Photographing myself with awkward faces! Achieving ridiculocurly somewhat scary hair! Annoying my mother! Ok, that one was a perk. But still! I BURNED MY FINGER FOR THIS.

LOST. ALL LOST.

Ok, maybe not all lost? but lost for now. Because the camera is a douchecanoe.

All this boils down to a new desire: wanting to write a post lambasting technology, which will lead invariably to a Kids-These-Days! rant, followed closely by a recounting of my childhood, in which walking up hill both ways barefoot to and from work at age 7 in the snow will feature prominently.

But I’ll spare you that one. This time. You’re welcome.

So then I think, you know what I need? OBVIOUSLY I need to move nearer to @HexingThoughts, my resident geek. (Y’all, she works for baked goods. It’s the best arrangement ever. Kisses, Hex!)

But the prospect of moving TO THE NORTH is, itself, FUCKING RIDICULOUS. Because it is the North. Where it is cold. Often.

I’m not sure I can adequately explain my inability to deal with the cold for any period of time over, say, three days.

Shut up. I don’t always have too much to say. I so don’t.

Let’s just move along, assuming you understand just exactly how much I hate the cold, pretending I’ve explained it in any way that makes sense.

And now that we’re here? I’m officially copping out. Breaking the only promise I’ve made to myself here, which is to post every day. Ok, maybe this is a post. I suppose. And I’m wearing lip gloss.

Ok, ok, it counts. Yeesh, settle down.

That said, I will not let the terrorists win here, and I will get those damn photos. Tomorrow is a brand new day, Asshole Camera, and I will win this war.

you win *this* round, camera.

::ANGRY WARRIOR YELL::

Ahem. Goodnight.

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