Thursday, April 06, 2006

One of my favorite parts of Boston was all of the history there. It hit me in ways that all the history in China didn't, likely because it was the history of myself, because it held answers to the secrets behind my own fingerprints. And since I'm nothing if not an obsessive navel gazer, they were welcome answers. I'm pretty sure I have to figure out my own secrets before I can set to really understanding yours, which is at the bottom of it all my point. I think.
At any rate, in the few days I've been back, strangers have told me even more stories than they usually do. You don't know it, but I'm keeping all of your stories until I get a chance to look behind your fingerprints too. You can't get rid of me, no matter how hard you might not try. Sorry about that.

Part of my restlessness has broken out in concocting elaborate outfits, some of which I'm actually wearing in public. If you see me out looking more put together than usual, it's because my brain just won't stop spinning and I'm trying to find outlets for it. (In case you were wondering, my favorite piece so far for spring is a very delicate pale pink corset. I have no idea what to wear with it, but I love it, and if any of my ladies want to come over and help me be less sartorially retarded, I'd appreciate it. I'm fully aware that I won't always be able to pull off things that are very tight and the same color as my skin, so I'd like to get some use out of it now.)
Now that I have a tambourine you're welcome to invite me to come play it in your band.

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