Dear The Pop Song About Remembering To Breathe

*DISCLAIMER: I do not have the ability to spell check this. Bear with me*

Remember when I listened to you about 40 times in the past two days? Remember how we promised not to tell anyone about it? Shhh.

Anyway

We lit the candle and the candle has stayed lit like I promised it would, because it has to, because we're not the only ones listening, because there's a reason it has, and I know it will burn down until there is nothing left like I told you it would. Fire puts out water, don't worry. Loss makes believers out of us. Or it can, if we let ourselves believe it.

So I haven't slept really for the past two days, which actually means that on Monday I finally fell asleep at 8:30 and woke at 10:30, and last night, when I had the pressing need to get a full nights sleep, I layed awake from 11 until 3:45 in the morning, rolling around and trying every "trick your body into falling asleep" I had ever been taught, until finally I was swearing at myself and marching to and from the bathroom thinking there must be something wrong with me. At first I was very hot, and then my body began to feel like it was being attacked. Like little lightening bugs were biting into my body--my thighs, my knuckles, my neck, my chest, my back, my head, my stomach, the tops of my feet. It stung, it itched, it burned, it was uncomfortable. I spent the whole night thinking I had bedbugs. After going to my first day of work I came back to Brooklyn and tried to nap several times, every time finding my body being stung and shocked by the invisible somethings that kept me from staying still for more than 45 seconds. So then I realized it was not bedbugs at all. But in fact what I have been expereincing is some form of poor circulation and that all of my body is "falling asleep" while I am trying to. Thank you, body. Taking the subway back to my new temporary home I experienced several other physical discomforts that I am not melodramatic enough to mention but made me concerned about my journey none the less. And I said to myself that when I got here I would just stretch for a long time & go to bed, but when I got here I knew that it was bogus, and decided on drinking red wine and talking to my mother (the "go for it" talks) instead, as something that would just put me at ease long enough for my body to fall asleep so I can. Thank you, mom. Thank you, red wine. I hate you, body lightening bugs. This is going to be me, trying to sleep, attempt #3. Third time's a charm.

And I think I can continue on from here a little bigger. I realized tonight, what do I have to lose in doing the tiny things that could get me where I want? My pride? (please.) Remember in high school when I wrote 18 pages a day because I was too consumed with something to pre-judge myself about it? I do. Why can't things be like that again? They can, can't they? In the mental bonfire of my in-the-woods-acoustic-mind everyone is singing "gonna go ahead and go boldly, cause a little bird told me that jumping is easy, that falling is fun..." eventhough no one has done that sing-a-long yet to date, except my butch friend at 16 when we were in her hoopty driving through Tacoma.

And telling someone something that really matters to you and having them react the way you thought they might is 1. gratifying because you are right, but 2. dissapointing because you wanted to be able to expect more. It can't even be said in a funny way. Because they know very well what you are saying. And you wish they would have been able to reflect the same, given the history of time. But they can't, or they choose not to. I don't pretend to know which. Thanks, "they". Maybe someday when I actually die it will hit home.

But I will never actually die. I will find Neverland before then.

Let's make big things. Let's make big creative things and decide what they mean after the fact. Let's decide what they mean first and then make something different. Let's all take a car to the coast and sleep in tents and let's sleep on the roof--it is so nice right now in the city and let's look at the lights--, and let's doccument our best summers, and let's make our best springs, and let's stop having dreams about men with razor blades and make dreams about beautiful snakes in our pockets, and let's buy ice cream and irish cider just because, and let's talk to people we're affraid of and not be pussies, and let's make a second draft, and let's find a second job, and let's say nice things, and let's try and say what we mean, and let's look back but only now and then when it is late and we're waiting for a train, and let's start being morally dedicated and not morrally corrupt, and let's make a poem again, and let's pee in an alley, and let's hold hands, and let's meet new people and take them on our next adventure, and let's have our next adventure, and let's be brave. Let's just be more brave.