i'd be satisfied to have just one for christmas.

i want to see with my eyes closed. i want to settle and wander all at once. i want to swim. i want to bathe in sunlight. i want windblown hair that makes its own decision of what it sees fit. i want to fall in love in every city. i want to fall in love with every city. i want to rise before the sun. i want to sleep until the moon appears. i want to ride a bicycle through empty sidewalks. i want to be invisible and wander unseen. i want to be uninhibited. i want to exist in an environment without disturbing it. i want to make breakfast wearing only underwear. i want to drive with bare feet. i want to own no makeup. i want to feel naked fully clothed. i want to feel music. i want the music to drown out my voice. i want my voice to drown out the music. i want to dance. i want to be submerged in a pile of books. i want to be submerged in bath water that never grows cold. i want another language to replace my own. i want to remain in love. i want to remain in bed with him an hour longer every morning. i want the sun roof open and the windows down. i want the sun in my eyes. i want an orgasm to last for days. i want my heart to race only for love and never for fear. i want to understand my own beauty without someone to translate it to me. i want to learn from literature and experience. i want to play in the snow and not lose the feeling in my fingers. i want a fireplace in every room. i want a movie to feel just as new as the first time i saw it. i want to revisit my childhood for one day. i want to simply want a shower, never need one. i want to my perception, reflection, and pictures to be the same.

i am the working hands of someone elses dream.

i feel as if i'm not living the life i was made to live. i feel that i'm living insignificantly.

this is where i need to live, what i'm supposed to eat, where i have to work. i don't understand what it is that i want. if you set me free i wouldn't know where to wander first. but i can't help this constant feeling that i'm trapped, or off course. i dream about the same thing every night. i dream that i'm working. i dream that i'm lost.

my life improved, but i don't understand why i wake up in the morning not very excited for my day to begin. i dread my days of having to work, but while i'm off of work all i can think is that the good times i am having are limited, and my life will go back to the routine of being dedicated solely to a work schedule. i feel that i'm renting my body to my job for 13 dollars an hour, which would be entirely fine, except my mind refuses to comply. i feel trapped there in my edit bay. i feel trapped writing down my predictable work schedule for a week that hasn't come. i feel trapped knowing that it can only get worse when i finally enroll in school, and then my mind and body will be for rent constantly, and i'll be trapped inside a shell that does only what it has to do. we accept our work schedules being 5 days a week. we consider two days away to be a blessing, but i seem to be the only one who minds that the ratio of work to living is 5:2.

i'm a slave to the ring of my telephone, and the sound of my alarm.
thoughts of my inevitably monotonous future don't leave me starry eyed.

a million things have happened, and i'm not sure i've had the time to take it all in, or much less stop to smell the flowers. for one, barack obama and i both landed an amazing new job on election day. i'm very inspired, and honored to witness history. i am lucky to live through this time, and grateful to be free .

forget about your house of cards.

funny, i've tried to write a few other times this week, and nothing would come from my fingers. it seems as though i'm only capable of writing on nights such as these, where i feel temporarily lost. maybe it's solely because it's a holiday that we failed to acknowledge, although halloween never was held in such high regards to me either way. the holiday season has always held disappointments, and i'm not sure how much more disappointments i could manage.

i'm in such a strange head space at times, mostly at times when i've been left alone. i tried to write when i felt happy this week, but it didn't feel right. how backwards am i; i choose to write only when i'm unhappy. what unfair memories i'm making for myself by digging myself into a hole that will allow me to look back at myself 5 years from now to rediscover who i was, only to find baggage. and speaking of baggage, have i mentioned that i've held everyone elses baggage and cannot manage to acknowledge my own? since when do your burdens become my baggage? it's terribly heavy and none of my belongings are in it.