A lot of things had brought me down recently and I wanted to have something to turn to. I'm writing a thank you note to the thank you note I wrote on post-it notes and walls. To the sound of the hair dryer and the hot air rushing on my face that might have opened my pores. To the cold water. To the neon green fruit bowl and neon street lights. To the music on shuffle last night that drifted me to sleep. To the colors of my room. To my red storybook journal. To the books that exposed me to other things. To the littlest things. To my lace top, high-waist skirt and velvet fairytale flats. To the scones. To Tori Amos. To my new-old books. To the light that never goes out. These are the things that made life like a costume party in the forest. I was feeling down lately but I went on writing about my feelings.
And now I feel unencumbered like the free flow of water. The littlest things enlighten me. I want to write on walls with eyeliner. Walk around the neighborhood. Paint a house. Play with my shadow and let sunlight make them long. Climb a small mountain. The sky is the limit.
Every now and then I find it easy to find something to do when things, the weather, the people, my clothes, become gloomy, and eventually the condition gets better. Christmas is coming, and I'm starting to think of little presents to give to little friends but will be valued highly forever. I had my ideas written on Santa's little notebook that he left in the book sale. I hope he's not looking for it.
