the thing under the thing.

remember when I talked about how things are really other things, but we don't always know? like, the ones that we do know are when jim morrison is val kilmer in my head, I went on this whole rant about it once.

so, I found it weird today, listening to people talking about a movie on npr, where a soldier receives a purple heart in the hospital - and I realized memorial day is about a three day weekend for most people. like how easter is about bunnies.

~~~~~~~~~

So I wrote that up the other day, and never quite finished the rest of the thoughts. I figured I should throw up some kind of update - I've just been alternately outside and not as caught up in my head as I've been. So writing and perusing all the dusty shelves in the recesses of my brain hasn't exactly been a priority - it's been nice to take a break from being so self-focused and introverted.

I'm thirty now. I wasn't last time I updated. That's like, on New Year's, when you're all telling people they'll see you next year, and it's like, the next day really... that's what that feels like. And if you hadn't noticed, the thought of thirty was bringing on a full fledged panic attack. Emotional heart palpitations. Nervous breakdowns. Sobbing in the car since the holidays, wondering if they were going to write a bell jar kind of thing about me...

And then, poof. Most of it subsides. A few hours on the last night of my twenties found me awake, lying in bed, feeling like if I didn't sleep that the next day would never come. And then a few hours into the first day of my thirties found me with my head up high. I look pretty damn good for thirty. I've been through a lot for thirty. Thirty is sexy and cool and grown up, in a good way, not in an old way. I'm going into this decade a whole lot healthier and aware and sane, I mean, experience notwithstanding I suppose a decade will do that to you regardless...

All that, and I look pretty damn good in my bathing suit for the first time in a long time. That's right, bitches. I'm making a comeback.

So not to be all, I've got nothing to write about because I'm not in a state of angst, but... I kind of want to go outside. I'm tired of mulling and examining and rehashing... I'll save that for the rainy days. The Frames are coming, and I've got tickets for Ray Lamontagne (13th row!!!), and I think I heard a rumor about The Wrens coming to Boston in September. All that, a Red Sox game at the end of this month, flip flops, and the sweetest boyfriend anyone could ever ask for. For a brief moment, I've got a quiet mind and I'm comfortable in my skin - so I'll try not to fuck it up.

Love and rockets,

~V.