Loving Messy Life

I'm starting this thing up again. I don't know why I had some fit of hysteria in September 2009 about this blog. It's fine. And I really need somewhere to write.

OK HERE IT IS.

Sometimes, well most of the time, I really love my life.

I like being woken up by a beautiful gay mulatto boy (who I don't know) getting in bed with me and talking about how much he loves Chanel.

I even liked going to the DMV this morning and listening to people have conversations on their iPhones, and seeing people get mad even though they just got there, and wondering why there is a group of 20 Mexican men lined up on the wall behind the chairs because they don't want to use the chairs?

I like the mess in my room. There is cigarette ash and fern leaves and mud balls on the floor. My guitar is leaning. My plants are dying. My lights are orange. The bird cage is on the floor. My sheets are wrinkled. I'm greasy and warm. My heater is set to 75. It looks really scary outside. I'm burning sage and listening to sad songs.

UPDATE: I take it all back I just had a panic attack in the shower.