warhol superstar

xcoquette @ 2006-03-28T23:35:00

2006-03-29T05:35:43Z

It's probably quite silly, in fact I'm sure it is. But I've always been a little silly, fanciful like a child. But it's 10:30 and my eyelids droop and are heavy for want of sleep and my hair falls like a shimmering platinum curtain in my eyes and on the pillow in my girls room of leopard and lace and gardenia perfume. I miss you. Want you.

It's something I've tried & tried & tried to talk myself out of. But I can't, because I can't quit reliving things occuring a week ago and I can't because I don't want to. I can't always let my head win even though I've done nothing but make mistakes when I think with--God forbid--my body or my heart. My mistakes come from impulse but I thrive on it.

I want to see you. It doesn't satisfy me online or through phones. You live thousands of miles away--I want to be close to you, hear you say my name, hear you sing, touch you, lean on you like I did at 4:30 in a hotel bed and slide my hands under the waistband of your plaid print boxers. I want to meet you in an airport and be giddy and spin and spin and spin like I did under the lights of the Watergate in my movie-star coat. I want your warmth. The warmth of your state instead of the gray of mine.

But I don't know what to say, really. "I feel the same way & more, so much more" you said. Do you want my flights of fancy, my bluest ocean eyes, my constant chatter, lilt of a singing voice?

I do silly things I hate myself for. Like daydreaming. Rereading. You have the other half of the notes. I want you, but I wonder too, if we made a mistake. I can't stop wishing for you, seeking your body in the morning, remembering how you laid me down on carpeted penthouse stairs and how I could feel you thrum with excitement waiting to kiss me the whole night arm & arm at the Press Club. I kissed the spot between your neck and your ear. You brought me into your room and I would have let you undress me, peel away cardigan to learn my skin the way sculptors do. I remember the feel of you--light, hard, tight---like phantom pains, your heat, your breath---I save silly memories the way my grandmother saves Tupperware.

I slid my fingers through yours, counterparts though you've got no callous from a poorly held pen. I hear you sigh while we kissed though I remember little about those first kisses, the sensory overload. You felt me shiver as your lovely wonderful hands traced a path from cheekbones to collarbones and lower. I whispered "yes" and bit your ear and I remember just how you smelled and what I would have given for one more day. The smell of lilies, the lazy patterns I drew over and over on your shoulders and knees and I was inhaling you like a drug as cliched as that sounds.

All I want is to see you, really. To be young and easy and to sing and dance and I long for it cause I'll be far more beautiful in the sunshine.

Rebirth

2006-03-25T04:37:51Z

I find it so difficult to start writing because all I can think of is you & you've changed my life, you & 100 others, we lived together 5 days & I miss you like family.

But it's you I think of. I think of you on a darkened bus shyly glancing at me & me searching for your eyes in a crowd, we look so opposite. Light & dark, brown & blue. My red lips, your easy charm. I want you on a stariwell with carpet under my back, I'm only wearing a dress I love, one long zip and I'm yours. I want you to drink from my collarbones and I want you here, now, not thousands of miles away.

There are so many things I love & I am so alone here but excited. You & I clicked but only on the third night, really, and to the end. We stayed up till 5:00 in a hotel bed and you were warm under my hands. Three very intense minutes both panting & sweating, kisses in an elevator we rode to the penthouse & back. You amazed me.

I could never express it totally. I can write, but it overwhelms me to try. As always I am a cup full of words filled to the brim, a fizzy glass of champagne in a dress with one long zip.

You were not him. It was relase. So easy. You, slight, dark, able to converse with me for hours, I was so honest with you & you said you could drown in my eyes & it was cliche but I ate it up. I could feel you trembling with my legs around you, your moan as I bit your lip, our connection in a room full of mirrors. It was you I wanted, I played so coy, you played right back.

I don't want to forget you. I know I should, but I like to dive in foolishly and hit concrete though you said, "Let's go diving." & oh God the way you said my name. I could feel you behind me watching my movements as we played cat & mouse and passed pages of notes, I've never been so sexually attracted to anyone before. Your mouth on my neck, lower, hands sliding down my back and the curve of my hip when you thought nobody was watching, my ruby mouth and your perfect hands. Your kiss was perfection.

I want you here, now. I want to be with you in sun & heat, in your bed, kissing you, morning sex. I sent you a message in my sleep, deep sleep, I'd been awake 36 hours. All day I missed you.

I felt like Dorothy the last day. "I think I'll miss you most of all."

I couldn't look at you when you left. It feels like a dream and it was I'm sure, I didn't want to cry. And you called today. You appreciate me. I could care less about Trevor now, he was so wrong, he wasn't riverboats & RENT & checkers & elevators. I remember you hard against me, your skin on mine when I slid my dress open for you, I would have let you fuck me on the stairs I wanted you so bad. You told me I was the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen when you saw me in my favorite dress & I loved your for it. "I've never wanted anyone so bad in my life."

Oh I'm slipping into something awful & addicting but you are something awful & addicting.

I am heavy with sleep. Sleeping & writing & thinking about your mouth on mine and my tongue down your skin. It was so fast but I don't regret it for a moment. Everyone changed me but I can't focus on them now. I wish on my eyelashes for you, you knew Edie Sedgwick, you beat me at checkers and I told you things I couldn't tell anyone I'd known two days.

Your wandering hands, my coffee flavored kisses, you curled around me and my cold lithe fingers dancing around your waist and lower, I'd have had you everywhere. You just absolutely slayed me.

Both of us skilled at our practice, but it was so new for me, Trevor never made me come and you send lightning through me. You knew me, your long, slow, lingering kisses on my gardenia Marc Jacobs neck. I wanted you outside under stars too full of ecstacies to say anything but my two-syllable name. I find myself unable to stop writing, filling up pages with you. I hunger for sleep but writing you makes you real. I want you & not just your sex. I want you here, or me there. You understand the importance of words, and it feels like nobody understands.

xcoquette @ 2006-03-15T20:47:00

2006-03-16T02:55:37Z

Often, without you I am happy. I am fishnet stockings and pearl chokers and mink fur collars and all that jazz, and I function quite well. But when I see you, I pretend to be happier than I am, and it's like being dizzy--all glee and wonderment at the world spinning around you until it makes you sick.

xcoquette @ 2006-03-13T21:24:00

2006-03-14T03:24:38Z

It's getting to the point now where I can finally admit you listened to the shittiest music ever.

xcoquette @ 2006-03-04T21:33:00

2006-03-05T03:44:23Z

When I woke up this morning everything was foreign. Everything from the way the floor felt under my feet to clothes on my body, the texture of walls and the opening of my eyes to morning. Even the way my teeth rubbed together felt different, strange, out-of-body. And it stayed that way. I bit my nails, curled my hair, put perfume on my wrists, and everthing was foreign.

When I woke up this morning I'd never felt so sad. The morning, eight o clock, weighed heavily on my whole body like someone sitting on my chest. When I woke up this morning I missed you so bad my fingers ached to reach for the phone. When I woke up this morning I hurt, I missed you so much I felt so empty and clichéd. But the feeling passed.

xcoquette @ 2006-02-28T21:49:00

2006-03-01T04:00:34Z

I don't know if my fury has ever bubbled up so, fresh boiling coffee down my throat, scalding my tongue and teeth and robbing me of my voice. I hate you. I never thought I would, or could, and I do. I hate you and love you passionately at the same time, you goddamn bastard, you rabbit catcher, you thief, you child, you coward.

There is no one better than me. Selfish, oh yes. Always, narcissistic, watch me fall face foward into the drowning pool. You rob me of words and you give them back tenthousandfold with your coldness. You who was always so warm. You give me nothing but desire---to flutter eyelashes, to flirt desperately, with an edge, to fuck. You give me nothing but pain, especially in the night, when I can't sleep because the clock invades my eyelids with its green glow, because I miss your presence beside me, I am so jealous, green with envy except mother told me I don't wear green well. It is my fury at hands unheld, at baby rosepetal pink fire-engine red lips unkissed.

I want to slit your throat with my pen, my weapon of choice, the only instrument of pain I can handle adequately. Tie my blue silk scarf around your neck and squeeze with lithe, cold hands till your face is the same color, the same color as my eyes and yours.

xcoquette @ 2006-02-26T20:38:00

2006-02-27T02:54:39Z

I can't---communicate. Words won't gush out like they usually do, a flood. My throat's stopped up like uncried tears and my insides churn and I hate feeling this way, I do. The pause before I type, Dancing With the Stars is on in the other room and I can't help but feeling like it's all so trivial, the way Esther Greenwood thinks, "I'm so glad they're all going to die."

And it isn't completely my fault. I know it is---quite a lot, self-deprecating---but I am not solely to blame the way you always seem to think. It's been over so long, you haven't really acknowledged my presence for a month. And foolishly I can curl my hair for hours, the hot rollers burning little kiss marks into my neck, spray perfume, shimmer & glitter & sparkle, effervescent, red lips and golden curls and a pencil skirt and heels and still I'm sitting here tonight, one night later, everything falls short of my expectations. A lovely bride, my candlelit skin and lipsticky smile, your father playing bass, me dancing in fishnets. It's your damn fault, you child, you coward, you cunt, you cad, you goddamn fool, you child, you child, you child.

You were never right. You didn't treat me the way my mother & father keep reinstating I should be treated---the coral-colored roses, the silly love songs--oh no I take that one back. You were never the full picture of the person I wanted, we didn't match wits ideally, you hurt me mercilessly and I hurt you right back. And now all you give me is stress at night, I toss and turn more than usual, I can't be completely happy, I hurt at night, I hate you so much.

But it doesn't matter in the slightest. No matter what I tell myself, I can't help but hurt. Your eyes were the mirror blue of mine, and we squinched our noses to swim.

xcoquette @ 2006-02-21T17:47:00

2006-02-21T23:53:10Z

You know what I hate? People who are so caught up with their God that they can't make a rational decision, or accept fact. Like pro-lifers. And those crusading against gay marriage. It's separation of church and state for a reason. The God I am familiar with cared more about healing and love than with hurling accusations and stripping people of rights.

My biggest problem is the religious right and their absolute fight against a woman's right to choose. Just because I am pro-choice doesn't mean I want to kill babies; it's exactly what I said: a woman's right to choose. No man in a suit on Capitol Hill should ever, ever have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do with my body. I will fight for my rights as long as I'm able to do so. This conservative religious right is bad for America.

xcoquette @ 2006-02-19T19:11:00

2006-02-20T01:16:26Z

It begins at school, where we go a little crazy during 7th hour no-supervision study hall. (Emily, Seth, me, Brad)

Senior girls. Alysia, Jess, Em, Claudia, me.

Me & boys---Andy (who I argue with about gay marriage and abortion but I love him anyway) and Bradley.

Superstrong EmJane.

The BAD kids hang out on the stage.

And from my trip to visit Ali and Britt and go to a rockabilly/punk/psychobilly show. . .

All dolled up. Me, Britt, Ali, Ariel.

B's the man.

Gee don't we look lovely?

Look at her Jessica Rabbit shoes.

xcoquette @ 2006-02-06T20:55:00

2006-02-07T03:03:10Z

I want to stay in bed forever with nothing but stacks and stacks of books to occupy me, and oranges to peel, and words to ban from my journal like your name and the fact I miss you. And when I can't read anymore, when the words slide into a jumble and I can't sleep, I will worry, for this is my bell jar. I want you to come save me. I curl into the tiniest position I can, my body into a ball, a crumple, and it's at night I get sad, and at night I miss you.

And you're leaving me, I think, or maybe I'm full of silly thoughts, for someone not me. And I don't see how that would ever suffice, becuase she's not a girl in a tent in a Cadillac in a purple dress in your clothes in your bed in your head in everything in Europe in black in white in night in day. She's not me, and I want to die, die, die my darling.

xcoquette @ 2006-02-04T11:50:00

2006-02-04T17:58:30Z

I know there is so much for me to be happy about: the singing deli guy at Super Target, sitting sophisticated at Starbucks with my brownie and Cinnamon Dolce Latte and Elle. Striped shirts and American Beauty and cherry-print bikinis by Luella. Oranges, Valentine's Day candy hearts, Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath books by my bedside.

But there is so much that changes my mood, unhappiness, flushed with fever last night at seeing him, him ignoring me but watching me, I think, from across the gym. Me sitting pretty, heart in my throat, and I hate him, I really do, and I am unsufferably jealous. And my mood swings. Driving home, suburban empty of the presence of four, I think of an icy road too fast, crushed under tons of blue-green and tires. Sylvia Plath exit, head in the oven, but ours doesn't run on gas. Playing Beatles in the car while I fall asleep in the garage, door shut, and then I think I am falling into depression again and I must not do so.

There is so much for me to be happy about. And yet, I can't. Not totally.

xcoquette @ 2006-02-02T21:01:00

2006-02-03T03:23:28Z

I think I'm sliding into something unsatisfactory, unsavory--again. I slide under the water of my slightly dingy bathtub, wince as hot water touches tender pinkish-red skin from a tanning bed I laid too long in. Submerged, hear the water, hipbones beginning to jut again, me like Edie, jangly bones. I wish for a warm radiator and cigarettes--though I don't smoke--and music I can hear through the walls and through the water.

And I will be a girl in black tights and collarbones, long dangling earrings and a leopard skin jacket. And I will dance and my hands will shake like a junkie's, hands with shellpinkshiny fingernails, because I must become all my idols and I must not sink back into gray like I did two years ago. But you didn't even look at me, and I was aloof, I walked out, I didn't look at you but I was jealous--oh how silly, and ridiculous--of your classmate sitting next to you, mouselike, sharp, pinched.

And I will be a girl who makes you laugh and whose cold, slim fingers slid down your skin and made you shiver, and I will not be cold---the people all call her Alaska/between worlds so the people ask her/it's all in her mind---but sweet and witty and charming and warm. And you will come to me, repentant--no, that isn't the right word, yet it fits, somehow-- and I will sing to you every song I know.

xcoquette @ 2006-01-30T20:57:00

2006-01-31T03:15:41Z

Oh but I am seething, and furious. But composed I suppose. I am just furious at you, inwardly, because you let me go and it was a mistake. I hope you wake up in the middle of the night seeing my silhouette in a purple prom dress and remembering the simple intimacy of zipping it up. I hope you miss my kiss, shoving me against the walls when your little siblings were in another room, your hands up my skirt, mine cold sliding up your shirt. I hope you miss my silliness, my stubbornness, my teasing smile and my sleepy eyes, me in your tshirt standing in your black and white bathroom. I hope you long for me at night, in the morning, all day long, because you know I was perfect in my maroon Cadillac with my sex and my love and my voice. And I hope you miss my willingness to make you happy, my heart full, my whispers of "I love you" and my honesty, I never shied away from you. I hope you regret your decision, because I can't look at you the same way. Think of me, and miss me, and hurt.

xcoquette @ 2006-01-29T17:46:00

2006-01-30T00:01:52Z

". . .I've been revoltingly unfaithful to you. But it doesn't matter, because you don't care about me anymore anyway."

I am so so tempted to find someone new, to kiss a stranger and not feel sorry, to hurt you mercilessly for the hurt you inflict on me when you ignore me and I languish here alone all weekend. To saunter into your school Friday night with my head held high and blonde curls just slightly imperfect, red mouth like I've been kissed and kissed the way you used to kiss and kiss me, leopard fur coat and skinny jeans and dark Edie Sedgwick eyes because you haven't looked at me, seen me, lately the way I am now. I'm always someone. I want to be so impossibly pretty--and lethal--"You're so cold"--that it stops you short and you can't drum or tease or talk to my boy friends because of me. The flick of my eyes, the waft of my perfume, I'll never feel the same way about you again. And you'll want me, because you'll remember finding me asleep in your bed Sunday mornings and my laugh and my slim fingers and I know all your spots and where I can hurt, but I don't. I can't say how I'll feel because it infuriates me you have such a hold on me.

xcoquette @ 2006-01-28T20:40:00

2006-01-29T02:51:34Z

1. First grade teacher's name: Ms. Dale
2. Last person you kissed: Trevor---probably my last kiss from him ever.
3. Last word you said: "No, Gina!" (to the dog)
4. Last song you sang: "Lovefool" by Cardigans
5. Last person you hugged: Joey?
6. Last thing you laughed at: Wildboyz on MTV2.
8. What's in your CD player? In my room: RENT 1 & 2, Nick Drake, Velvets & Nico, Nico In the computer: Romeo & Juliet
9. What socks are you wearing? I'm currently barefoot.
10. What's under your bed: Oooh! I just cleaned it all! So no more alcohol bottles, just shoeboxes full of junk and journals.
11. Current status: Single. Yucky.
12. Current taste: brownies
13. Current hair style: Shortish, wildly wavy, needs to be washed.
14. Current clothes: Victoria's Secret PINK shirt I found in my closet and sweats
15. Current job: money-spender
16. Current longing: To have something--and someone---to do on the weekends
17. Current desktop picture: Edie Sedgwick and a bunch of boys (Andy, Lou Reed, Gerard Melanga)
18. Current worry: eh nothing
19. Current hate: my cold hands/feet
20. Story behind your screen name: eh it's so dumb, I just like the word "coquette"
21. Current favorite article of clothing: LEOPARD PRINT FUR COAT!
22. Favorite physical feature(s) of the opposite sex: hands
23. Last CD that you bought: ehhhhhh um. . .probably Bob Dylan for my brother
24. Favorite place to be: shopping!
25. Least favorite place: Algebra II
26. Time you wake up in the morning: 6:30 for my 7:30 College Calc class
27. If you could play a new instrument, what would it be?: Violin.
29. Current favorite word/saying: "I know right?"
30. Favorite book: "Fall on Your Knees" by Ann-Marie Macdonald
31. Favorite movie: Wizard of Oz, Gone With the Wind, B@T, Amelie
32. Favorite songs: oh my goodness, currently it's "Rebel Rebel" by David Bowie
34. One person from your past you wish you could go back and talk to: um, that would be Malcolm, my old internetflame, just to see what's up now
35. Favorite day: Friday I'm in love!
36. Where do you want to go: Paris.
37. What is your career going to be: Journalist.
39. What kind of car will you have: Hopefully a Mercedes/BMW.
40. Where do you want to move to: Minneapolis/NYC/Paris.
41. A random lyric: Rebel rebel you tore your dress/Rebel rebel your hair is a mess
42. Eye Color: Blue.
43. Hair Color: Blonde.
44. Righty or Lefty: Righty.
45. Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius
46. Innie or Outtie: Innie, and pierced

DESCRIBE...
47. Your heritage: Norwegian, Scottish, Irish
48. The shoes you wore today: black patent leather flats which I wear to death
49. Your hair: a little longer than my chin, blonde with ashy roots, crazy wavy, a little bit blah cause it hasn't been washed since. . .Wednesday?
50. Your weakness: anything with a price tag
51. Your fears: Not getting into the U of M, not being 1/14 in my class
53. Your most recent secret?: I have no secrets.
54. Your thoughts first waking up: What time is it? Gina, stop howling outside my window. Where are my earplugs?
56. Your bedtime: About 11:30
57. Your most missed companion: Ali! Brittany! (They're in college)
58. Your perfect pizza: Chicken alfredo
59. Sweet and Chewy or Salty and Crunchy: both
60. Single or group dates: single
61. Dogs or Cats: dogs
62. Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Nestea
63. Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate
64. Cappuccino or Coffee: Ew but cappuccino I guess.

DO YOU...
65. Smoke: No.
66. Curse: Yes.
67. Sing: Yes.
68. Take a shower everyday: Nope!
69. Have a crush: Yes
71. Think you've been in love: Yes.
72. Want to go to college: Yes.
73. Want more than what you got: YES
74. Want to get married: Yes.
75. Type w/ your fingers on the right keys: Yes.
76. Think you're attractive: Eh sometimes. I think I am "interesting"
77. Think you're a health freak: Nope
78. Get along with your parents: Yes
79. Play an instrument: Oui

IN THE PAST 3 MONTHS...
80. Cried: Yes.
81. Smoked: No.
82. Done a drug: No, just birth control
83. Made Out: Yes
84. Gone on a date: Yes kinda
85. Had sex: Yes
86. Eaten sushi: No.
87. Been dumped: Kind of
88. Made homemade cookies: Yes.
89. Been in love: Yes
90. Gone skinny dipping: Not in the past 3 months
91. Dyed your hair: Yes
92. Stolen anything: No.

HAVE YOU EVER...
93. Punched someone: This is a stupid question
94. Been caught cheating: No.
95. Been called a tease: Yes.
96. Gotten beaten up: no
97. Changed who you were to fit in: no
98. Cried at something beautiful: No
99. Spent too much money on something you didnt need: Of course
100. Cried when someone died: Yes.

xcoquette @ 2006-01-25T20:59:00

2006-01-26T03:02:54Z

I have been on academic amphetamines lately. Last night, suddenly overcome with a burst of energy, I polished off three essays, my demanding college Calculus With Limits (that makes me laugh), downloaded a bunch of new Velvet Underground, IMed, wrote my third Aerosmith interview request letter (March 25! Keep your fingers crossed!), and started preparing for my FIRST AIRPLANE TRIP! I go to Washington, D.C. on March 18-23 with 100 other kids who love journalism and politics for the Free Spirit Conference. I'm supposed to be excited for the opportunity this gives me---and I am, fo' sho'-----but really, I'm more excited about getting a new wardrobe!

xcoquette @ 2006-01-19T21:39:00

2006-01-20T03:41:06Z

I did two things this week that make me feel like an adult, finally.

a) I quit cheerleading. It wasn't making me happy. It hurt. I was stressed. So I quit.
b) I told him. I said, I can't do this anymore. It's all or nothing.

Oh, and p.s.- I think I have a teeny little crush on my internet college professor. Like, the function of (happyface). . .

xcoquette @ 2006-01-02T19:22:00

2006-01-03T01:23:22Z

I have a dilemma! You must help!

Which song should I sing for Solo Competitions in a few weeks?

A) OUT TONIGHT from RENT (which I really have to belt, but I can do it)
OR
B) I'M NOT THAT GIRL from WICKED (which is pretty low, therefore easier)

Help! Vote!

xcoquette @ 2005-12-30T19:33:00

2005-12-31T01:42:30Z

She never does bad things. The only concern she has is which boy to go out with tonight. . .

But she got a little too saucy. . .and bored with the good-girl lifestyle. . .

And fell in with the "wrong crowd"---the hippies.

Well, she grew out of the flower child phase, and became the toast of NYC in the 70's.

Drank gin in bathtubs, danced till dawn at Studio 54. . .

Late nights. . .cocaine. . .

Which proved to be her downfall.

Until she joined the 80's punk scene. . .

-----EDIE PICTURES-----

If you don't know who Edie Sedgwick is, she was a Warhol Superstar and she died at 28. I really enjoy her.
This is the REAL Edie:
This is a copyrighted picture, I found it on Google, I give credit to the photographer!

And ME as Edie:

xcoquette @ 2005-12-29T12:19:00

2005-12-29T18:20:32Z

I need to be kissed. Soon, or I might shrivel up and die.

xcoquette @ 2005-12-27T21:24:00

2005-12-28T03:28:42Z

I have this compulsion to cut my hair. . .I think it's me channeling my Edie obsession.

ANYWAY. Guess what? KARA NEEDS BOOKS TO READ. Please, please, please give me a few of your recent favorites. I'll recommend some in return.

Here's Dylan, Gina, and me. Ignore that piece of hair that didn't straighten.

BOOKS TO READ, LOVE KARA
What Remains by Carole Radziwill
The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls
Famous for 15 Minutes by Ultra Violet
The Areas of my Expertise by John Hodgman

Oh and by the way, for Xmas I got:
-an ipod nano
-blue Uggs, only because it is North Dakota, it is cold, I'm college-bound, and I steal mom's all the time
-piano music
-The Glass Castle from Dad
-Velvet Underground & Nico CD, Royal Tenenbaums DVD from Dylan
-a Warhol Marilyn (not a REAL one silly)
-an iTrip

And I gave:
Mom: a foot bath/foot massage thing
Dad: The Concert for Bangladesh CD
Dylan: Thelonious Monk & John Coltrane, Bob Dylan CDs
the Boy: a harmonica, poker chips, Stand by Me DVD
Aunts, Uncles, Grannies: my senior pix

xcoquette @ 2005-12-26T21:46:00

2005-12-27T03:47:00Z

You know, I don't think I'll ever be content---and this is probably the prissiest thing ever, but whatever, I don't apologize---until all my underwear becomes lingerie and MATCHES.

xcoquette @ 2005-12-25T23:43:00

2005-12-26T05:43:13Z

I dislike iTunes.

xcoquette @ 2005-12-12T20:22:00

2005-12-13T02:28:51Z

I am so stressed, so tense, and I don't know why.

Headaches, check.
Backaches, check.
Shoulder pain, check.
Neck tension, check.
Poor sleep, check.

I am so stressed, so tense, and I don't know why. All I know is the only time my stress and aches alleviate is when I'm with you.

---

xcoquette @ 2005-12-04T15:46:00

2005-12-04T21:51:06Z

Nobody tagged me but I want to do it anyway.

5 Simple Pleasures
1. Hearing guitar player's fingers slip across the strings in songs--I love that little squeak noise, that little imperfection, in a song.
2. Milk--Milk is perfect when and only when it is just a bit above freezing, sweet, and white white white, no skim milk for me.
3. Being enveloped by someone else's body/touching forehead to forehead--I love physical affection and that ease, simpleness I have with someone I used to love so fiercely and still do love, still still still, is perfect.
4. The opening piano chords of "Seasons of Love"--I'm so obsessed with my RENT soundtrack, and those four measures are amazing.
5. White Christmas lights--I detest colored lights on trees. . .white lights look like candles if you squint your eyes, and the light they shed on everything is so much more romantic, too, as hackneyed and cliched as that may seem, it's true.