Words From the 5 Year Old

song of the day: AC/DC, the jack

I was walking down the street with my friend recently. We passed by, as you so often do in the city, a construction site. We got into a discussion about the jackhammers (is it weird that I really like their smell?) and why they're so loud. My friend, wizardress, explained that the reason they were so loud was not, as I conjectured, because of their fuel or somesuch, but because (in a much more reasonable observation) it was breaking up the street, a very hard material.

That was when genius struck. "They should just make the world out of soft things, then!" I exclaimed. "Yes, yes," I said, getting excited. "I'll send them a letter and tell them to make the world out of soft things! Then all the jackhammers will smell pleasant but won't be ear-breakingly loud!" I turned eagerly to my partner, but she replied "Lola, they would never write back to you." Ah, though; here's the secret: "If I write it and sign it 'love, lola *age 5*' they'll surely write back something like: 'what a great idea! We'll get right on it!'" This was how our bet was formed. She'll pay me if I get a letter back, I'll do the same if I don't get one.

So I set to work. A blank piece of paper, and a box of crayons were set out. I wrote in a wobbly left hand with backwards letters and misspelled words. My friend Becca drew some stick figure drawings. It was so much fun. I felt little again. Then we wrote a note in pen on the back from 'mother', that explained her darling five-year-old's note. It reads "'Dear Construction Company, I have an idea to make your jackhammers not loud. You can make the world out of soft things.
Love,
(name blanked here for privacy)'
---------------------------------------------------------------
This is what my 5 year old daughter wrote on the other side. As we were walking past a construction site, she came up with an idea to diminish your sound output.
It would make her year if you wrote back.
Thanks!
Becca (last name blanked for reasons previously stated)"

I found con-edison's address and an old stamp with lilacs on it which I duly affixed to an envelope. Then, trembling with glee, I sent it into
the mailbox. Who thinks I'll get a letter back?

when you just need to throw some words out into the abyss and pretend that someone's listening.

song of the day: Beloved, Anoushka Shankar

My darling, I miss you I miss you I miss you. Three times. Or, maybe, I miss who you were. or probably, even more aptly, I miss who you were going to be. No. I just miss you. See me again? So I can feel your fingers? Your hair? I wish you were close by me always, so your path would not have deviated. if you had gone to where you belonged instead of there. But I can't dwell in how it would have been different. Then again, I was just telling a friend, I can't pull the whole thing myself. Don't lie. Don't say you have things to do. Come here.

Tattoo, musings

Song of the day: Nausea, Beck

Just thought I would show a picture or two of this doodle I did today on my palm. It's a woman holding onto a heart balloon, and the string follows the curve (line?) of my palm. Might be a pretty tattoo to have. I don't know if I've written about tattoos I'd like to have. I'm not the sort of person to just get one to have it, but I'm not opposed to having them at all. They would just need to be meaningful to me; have a reason behind them, one I know I wouldn't regret much alter in life. I think tattooing a plain black heart on the sole of my foot (at the heel) would be as awesome as it gets. Because then no one but you would know you had it, but you could also see it whenever you wished. But I think the soles of the feet are un-tattoo-able, because the skin is so thick down there. But it would be so awesome. It would also be nice to have something small in the groove between your thumb and forefinger. I would imagine it hurt a lot more, because the skin is so thin there, but I like the space a bunch. I go for roads less traveled, eh?

I haven't been writing here a lot, not just because I've been busy (which I certainly have been),  but also because I've started a journal/diary, and that gets out a lot of what I might be tempted to write here. But it's a lot harder to get media into paper than the fibers of the web. I'll always be here. Even after death, which could totally bring me into a tangent if my legs hadn't fallen asleep because of the awkward position I'm in and because I'm running out of time. But think about it. These words can be deleted only by me, really. And I can't delete them if I'm dead. Morbid. I could swoop out of this if I had the time. Possibly to be continued...?