Tuesday, May 15, 2007

When the sun starts to come out my freckles darken and my heart aches in the places where it was formerly broken. It's not No Reason Sads but instead All Reason Sads, and I can't seem to get these fists out of my hands. I'm hearing helicopters even when I can't see them.

I think that there's an angry little robot that lives just below the hollow of my throat, and while it tends to nap during the winter, it feels the sun and realizes that it has shed all of its subcutaneous layers of battery power and needs a recharge. This afternoon I felt it stirring, with a "Click!" and a soft "whirrrrr" that vibrated all down my bones, and though I sat very still in the hope that it would go back to sleep, it seems that it is awake and extra grumpy after all of the hibernating. The winter is long if you're an angry throat-living robot.

It's always hard to say what's going to be the reset button, what will shut it off, and so until then I apologize if I go to hug you and accidentally punch you in the throat. The angry robot is stretching its arms. I'm sorry if I accidentally say something mean sitting in a bar drinking pitcher after pitcher of beer. The angry robot is thirsty and speaking with my tongue. The angry robot knows that my heart hurts and it wants to hurt everything in return. Once it has warmed itself up it will go back to sleep, though, at least for a little while.

(PS, Please come to this on Thursday. We are very sexy and very fond of the nicest Lashes. Plus, if you come and remind me, I'll tell you the joke that the faux cowboy told me in Utah, which is one of the few jokes I know all the way through because I wrote it down. (Because I am a joke-telling lameass.) It is not a very good joke, and I will tell it poorly, but I promise to try not to punch you in the throat.)

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