maybe sitting at molly's desk will make me a better writer. she has this way with words that most people just wish they could think like that. see? i cannot even write a coherrant sentence. obviously, it has yet to rub off. maybe because i am not sitting the right way or drinking coffee like she does for hours until its cold. she has a dictionary of american slang and a book entitled hand job and a jar full of prismacolor markers. there's the bamboo plant i got for her when someone mean and nasty stole her computer. there's also a red striped monkey and an old pair of brass scissors. they do not cut too well.
things are hard to explain and i envy those who can think things up and explain them so well. or those people who can see something and take a snapshot that looks like life always was simple and clean and soft. words and images are forever flooding my eyes and i am supposed to swallow them and decipher them and spit them out in my own words. but i'm really not up to the task right now. i just want to nuzzle and cuddle and sleep in beds with big white duvets. there should be no darkness unless its the night and there should be no cold unless there is someone to wrap yourself up with. that's when it should be cold. only then.
molly's desk has paintbrushes and a young picture of her and maddy looking cute and soon it will have paper clips shaped like cows that she got for her birthday. then her desk will be even cuter than right now. i like walking downstairs and seeing her standing over her desk, painting something and sipping her lukewarm coffee. it just feels right. a lot of things are feeling right lately. its a good feeling.
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