This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Thursday, March 27, 2008

He Called Me Emo


It's sleeting here today. I'm still fighting the good fight against the office epidemic that has people coughing in their cubes on all fronts. I've been eating raw garlic every night before bed since Sunday and sporadically before that. I got the Traditional Medicine "Healthy Pack" of teas along with some spinach, lemons and a lime last night. I'm going to bed as early as I can and thinking positively.

So, yeah.
My boyfriend called me emo on the phone earlier today. It made me laugh, but he's a little right.

Last week, out too late at the bar, I was one of the sober ones watching all the drunk forgettings. (I did get a number, boo-yah!) This guy started talking about "Never Ending Story" which I loved as a kid, but retain little knowledge, trivially, of. He starting asking trivia questions, which I didn't know the answers to.
He asked, "What's the book (the boy) is reading (in bed) at the beginning of the movie?"
My friend quickly answered, "The Never Ending Story".
They laughed and the questioner said, "Yeah, people really over think that one."

I do that. I'm the person that won't answer that question because I'm wishing I had a better head for stupid bar trivia and didn't quickly grasp, duh...

Anyway, that's not really the problem. The problem is over thinking everything.
A simple e-mail becomes an exercise in explication and all of the sudden I'm parcing possible meant tones and contexts that were probably never implied.

Stick to poetry dear, stick to poetry.

So, I know, the postings have been SuperLame lately. The art is bursting inside me but I haven't had much time to myself until just this week and now I'm spending most of that time trying not to get any sicker. It's working. And I'm teaching myself (slowly) about herbal medicines while I dream of gardens and books and poetry.
To Do:
Write 2 travel blog entries before Monday.


Devyn said...

I love you.

Maybe you were -being- emo. At the moment. You, yourself? You're not emo.

Laura said...

It could be worse - you could be writing about pooping-through-stress.