"A smooth hand is nothing to be proud of. Calluses tell a story: a weekend spent repairing fence posts, replacing the oil filter on the Triumph, tacking across the harbor in a hard wind. Calluses are the proof of doing something that was hard enough to do that it made scars. And unlike tans and white teeth, calluses can't be faked."

when was the last time i fucking TALKED to anybody? christ i needed that

also:

george:
so i decided i'm going to wear a headband

teresa:
WHAT? that's an awful idea!

george:
are you drunk?

teresa:
mmm

george:
you are! well okay, like i was saying

teresa:
*yawn*

george:
what is it?

teresa:
*laughs, muffled voices in the background*
mmmmmm

george:
teresa

teresa:
mmm?

george:
TERESA!

so i took some much needed shrooms last night and thought of all of you.

thanks to everyone who has made me feel like i've actually wanted to post things here. i'm not nearly close enough to being a writer, but i'm damn close to being a better lover

which is all any of us really want in the end right

also,
taking my journal down in november

i made another week promise to myself.

the last time i did this was right around sixteen i think.
just about the time i started to go crazy

growing up;

oh and we did tons of ketamine and smoked lots of pot and when i called marie about it all she did was give me a quiet pausing to.


Marie
I'm only doing what you want me to do.

Seven
PAUSE

love, in its effortlessly infinite timespan, came by to teach me an important lesson about itself.


"as soon as you figure me out, i'm just going to fuck you up all over again"


i was GOING to say that it takes pain and subtlety and nuance for love to be love (so far in the story i feel like the most subtly beautiful person in my life is the one who im most in love with)



why this is all happening:
letting go,
truly letting go of how things used to be
and slowly seeing the shape of how things are going to be

shit was i angsty back then;

i was probably right too. and i dealt with a lot less bullshit too