and like a discontent flower

Caption: Coney Island ferris wheel. Accident free since 19something

Today's beautiful moment in time: As I was getting my hands dirty preparing spare ribs for tomorrow's festivities, my mother told me to pause for a while so that we could watch the wedding scene together in The Sound of Music.

I've rearranged my shelves so that the categories go in the order of: 1) Asian American issues 2) poetry 3) American Indian memoirs/novels 3) ethnographic texts 4) books by exceptional boring white people 5) miscellaneous fun stuff (that would include all four volumes of Paradise Kiss manga- you may shoot me now)

My room has remained relatively unchanged since 17. Everything in its original order. Minus the Seventeen workout instructional guide that once plastered my closet doors. But you know. I don't bother because I know this is all temporary. I believe my mother when she said that some day, we are going to move to a smaller place. I like that. I don't like excess.

Man, I remember when I used to be interesting. Those were the days.

In other news, I am rereading Sharon Olds' "You Kindly," and thinking of kind sex. If our bodies were manufactured this way, does this mean somehow, I came out defective?

What am I waiting for? Winter to end, and an allergy-less Spring with an excuse to be in my room with only my underwear on.

Muriel is a hard worker but only twelve hours before the work is due. She does not know how to ride a bicycle. Or swim. She has a fear of things going in her ear, of rape and metal grinding upon metal.