And then. . .

how many different kinds of laughs are there? i know that i can laugh a fake laugh at almost anything. i have a nervous "what is going on here laugh" and then i have a "this really isn't funny but i'll show some teeth and giggle to appease this not funny person." i learned how to be good at this laugh. there is my real laugh that is loud and unladylike. it comes out like a surprised bark and my mouth opens wide all my teeth show and anyone can see my tongue pulsing to the beat of my laughter. i laugh from the deep fissures of my belly and i snort sometimes but this feels good. sometimes i laugh so hard tears are squeezed out of my tightly squeezed eyes and i laugh so hard it hurts.  this laughter has been with me since the beginning. in between these laughters i have many variations. i have the laughs that i've laughed at moments i didn't think i would ever laugh. the laughter i laughed bemusedly sorting through my grandma's belongings, the...

The idea of touch has been fascinating me recently. How much we touch, how much we are touched,  how often we refrain, even when our hand is about to reach out and we stop. Its odd because sometimes what can be said in touch is simply muddled with words. I have never liked to be touched. Its difficult for me to accept new people into my space and it creates this unease within me that I can't quite explain. For me touch is something you have to get to know, have to be comfortable with, a small pat on the arm is earned because a trust is developed. I have cuddling friends and we got to that point because we are just that close, but it takes time. A comfort that evolves just as anything else. A hand on the small of your back that guides you through the room. A consoling pat on the thigh. Fingers intertwined briefly in a conversation. A burst of excitement as two palms slap in a high-five. A leg that rests gently against yours under the table... So, I suppose this is my ode to touch....

there are times when  it's hard to see where things start and where they begin. there's a blurring of lines that sometimes becomes messy. a metaphorical sand painting just after its been destroyed. after all the hard work one puts into something, its hard to be the one to blur all the colors together and let the winds do the rest. there's something about the middle though. the middle when there is calm and patience and love in carefully creating the image. life is not sand though, and that's why the middle is even more important. without the middle we would really have nothing. so for now i'm going to enjoy this middle. this middle place that's found me, and see what winds come...

yummy yummy i got love in my tummy..... something in the way she moves.... don't wanna leave her now pour some sugar on meeeee.... and my next girl will be nothing like my ex-girl i made a grave mistake i'll never do it again... And now, we interrupt our regularly scheduled program for this important news:    Reports are showing that a constant stream of stimulus can have adverse effects on the thought patterns and processes of the brain. These adverse effects include difficulty sleeping, constant chattering, and difficulty concentrating. Please be advised that in order to lower these effects..... Rape meeee. Rape me my friend. Rape me do it and do it again. "Wait, what were they saying?"