I have lost my summer. I put it all down into a book, that was well chosen for its recycled paper and poetic design. It had sizable paper that was just enough to hold a decent thought but not large enough to make that thought seem lost in a sea of white space. It had no lines, college-ruled or otherwise, that say, “You write too big,” or, “Your pictures have no place here.”
It was bound perfection.
And I invested heavily into it, as if the market were down and the bull made it the perfect time to buy. Every thought, vital statistic, emotion, road trip, and cigarette was retained in those pages so that my mind would be free to participate in more infiltrating discussions that were free from the weighty deed of remembering.
And then I lost it. And all that remembering.
So here I am, with my petty distaste for technology and every piece of beautiful humanity that it destroys, creating a blog that will secure my thoughts in a place where I cannot lose them. Good luck, world of internet traffic. Please keep my mind's eye safe.
And it's probably about time.
I painted my fingernails today successfully. I did two things right. (I did many things wrong: spilt my tea on someone's pants, melted an ice cube tray on the stove, and went to the beach when it was much too cold.) I was patient with my fingernails, and I started a blog.