In case you missed it somehow, today is the last day of January and 2007 is off like racehorses and prom dresses and other things that move to other places with alacrity. (Never having gone to a prom I can’t be strictly sure about the accuracy of that second one, but you’re not here for accuracy anyway.) I have spent the month in the following ways: making new friends and then drinking with them, stammering, canoodling, pacing, scratching behind the ears of friendly dogs, proposing to inanimate objects (see also: my red colander, new couch, and the new Busdriver album), shaking my ass, cooking, drinking with old friends, watching documentaries about under the water, and trying to bribe the telephone to ring. Also, lying on the floor, idly conspiring with the ceiling to run away to the very tip of Gibraltar in order to commune with the wee monkeys and set up a network of tin-cans-and-strings telephones to North Africa.
In all I’m pretty satisfied with January. I spent what felt like most of the last few months prior to this one arguing, and feeling by turns annoyed and ignored, and putting a firm end to that was the smartest possible start to my year. (You may have noticed that I did not write to you in November or December, and that was because most of what I had to talk about was strictly off-the-record sort of stuff.) I don't take care of myself as well as I ought, which is not at all good since this is the only self that I have.
The trouble with me is that I am by default kinder than is strictly necessary, so I am constantly stabbing myself in all of my softer places. I am honestly trying to improve myself, and part of that needs to be finding a balance between what is best for you and what is best for me. With any luck, the two won't often be so distant anyway.
And man, am I incredibly rich in friends, I've realized again lately; more friends than any one very flawed little girl really deserves. All these people who accept all of my eccentricities, not just the cute ones. It's a profoundly shocking thing, and one that I hope to never grow used to.
As it stands today I am at home and content in this keyhole. As though on the inside of my skin, written in ribbon, were the words, “If you lived here, you’d be home by now.”