I am the particular mood in which time slows just enough to become almost unbearable. Moods like moths, unwanted and only bothersome because of their unpredictability and JERKIness. Not as in jerk like the noun, but more like jerk like the verb. Recently, I was told in an email that I was “dicking” like the verb.

There are patience everywhere. Yes I know that is spelled “wrong”. I wish I were impossibly, grammatically perfect so that everyone could assume that I was hilarious. Patients, a virtue.

I live in a house with often one and sometimes two additional males AND often and occasionally, one or two females. Roommates are strange like whispering cats. I think maybe that only happens in my head.

I feel tired like walking in jell-o tubs and very sleepy children hitting my “core” with wooden mallets, sort of softly but sustaining. Also, hangover, no headache.

Bright and the ideal are sometimes lost on those who steer. Also stir. Like toss and turn stir, not like mix these chocolate chips into this dough stir.

My friends are good people. I wish I could keep them. I am however, very aware that friendship, at least thus far in my time, is a relative, geographical, proximity-related endeavor. Time tested as they may be, distance has made bland even the most fiery of my relationships. Fiery? Really? Is there fear of confusion?