there's been guitar echoing through this house nearly day and night for about 42 hours now.

and singing.

and none of it mine. out loud anyway. 

my hair falls out. i wonder if, as i ring them round my fingertips, the long brown tangles abandoning the ship of my head in droves, are lost ideas. each one some midnight, midsnack, midbeer, midsentence inkling of creativity that i let fall away before i rose to get a pen. i have a new pen. 

i also have a new journal. i haven't used it yet. 

barf.

[or, the post JAM haze.]

what it means to have principles. hm.

goals i'd like to have: have a REAL goal. 

plato. philosophy. 

i had some shit to say, i thought. 

lacking words: here's a photo.

woah is...

me? 

damn you! a.mariewilliams. i've written a blog.

or, rather, started a blog. 

hrmph.

wonders

how you really, clean the house.
why my ideas turn to dust, and then end up in little dead clusters under the bed and sofa.
why things hurt one second, and then don't the next. for no reason.
why cheese is so enticing.
why "the shirts i never wear" have their very own hanger in the closet.
how to get rid of things, without acquiring new things.
what's for dinner.
if Fall has really come to Portland on September 1st.
if saving pennies is really all that worth it.
what the hell kind of job i want to get.
and if i can get one i want wit