You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August 2009.

dear….empty internet space that i fill with my blog? life:

a. sandy sweaty and hot wednesday night back to school party.

b. hobo watching with claire and sarrie and of course tina ;)

c. talking to cally on the phone two nights in a row for over an hour both times

d. wearing keds and feeling like a dork but still wearing keds

e. taping together comic strips

f. seeing sierra and finally FINALLY giving her the painting.

g. make your own pizza nights

h. balderdash

i. sno-cones! blue raspberry of courrrsssee

j. walks in the heat

k. cardigans from walmart

l. cans of soup and sour dough bread

m. old aquaintances

n. finding out that Mrs. Leahey made her writing class this year for me. and that i am not even taking it!!

o. short satirical stories

p. sneaking out to the freezer and eating ice cream cake

q. reading the girl in the limberlost: a nice, fairy tale happy ending story. mood-up-lifter

r. i just absolutely love blue popsicles and blue sno-cones and blue slushies because they turn my tounge blue.

s. boys that never text you back unless they are bored

t. the fact that all my best friends are in college :S

u. making up songs that you can never remember but imagine that if you did you would get asked to sign a record deal immediately

v. cold pizza

w. sort of trying to make sense to the padres

x. gah! i need to read that chapter before tomorrow

y. choir starts tomorrow :D and youth band practice :D

z. possible sleep over tonight? if i can get a hold of people.

the end.

love, melissa



I am suspended in the air
My feelings dutifully cast aside as you wanted
I am trying to touch the ground with my toes
But the effort sticks the air to my skin most painfully
The art of pretending things are normal is lost to me
I can pretend I have this art
There is evidence I can do that

A hanging you say and I nod
The great event will be held and recalled
As the most insignificant in history
The air sticks to my skin more painfully
And nothing is looking around more anxiously
Than those feelings cast in the corner
Chained by duty and damn sensibility

I am suspended and floating in the air
Looking down at everyone’s gloriously busy lives
Now the those feelings are beginning to die
Without water to live in
Their dry skeletons stuck in my heart
Like I am stuck above the ground
Yet it was I, who placed the rope around my own neck.


i’m pondering all the ways you can be in love, as if love was a thing tangible you could get inside of, like a sleeping bag, or like a warm plaid peacoat.

or falling out of love, like it was  a moving car, or an airplane (like that csi episode of the lady being pushed out of the plane and her shoe causing it to crash; disastrous). or falling off an sled just as it speeds up faster and faster and landing face first in the cold, frozen snow. or what we used to do as kids, getting in the hot tub and jumping into the pool. hot; cold.

can one be on the side of love? like sitting next to a very old tree with a book, reading, enjoying one another’s company but not asking anything of eachother. or standing next to a sky scraper looking up and up cracking your neck expecting something wonderful to happen when you see the top; and ending up with a feeling of dizziness and nausea.

to be near love might like the horse you always wanted and dreamed about and asked santa for and wrote stories about; but when you got older you realised the more practical thing would be to want a car. you meet someone and you want them so bad and you dream about them yet you never really pause to stop of the practical things; stables, horse manure, the care and the hard work to keep the horse. wow, uh, that sounds really coarse, but do you see my point?

and of course, when you fall in love, and then fall out of love, (what is with the falling? we sound either like leaves or flightless birds)  you want to find the way back into love. (watched music and lyrics yesterday, forgiveness please) Love is that one section of books at that really lovely large old library that you can never quite find again. and you search and search and start wondering if you made up that wonderful peaceful section by the bay windows, with the lacey curtains and the view across the city.

Love lost is like all of those hair ties and bobby pins and pens that you buy so much of yet continue to loose over and over again. maybe thats too pesimistic. Love lost is like your favorite pair of socks of which one sock is missing and it drives you crazy looking for it; you take all the clothes out of your dresser and end up dropping some bags off at Goodwill. Love lost is like the letter someone wrote to you that you desperately want to find again yet you know that it was thrown away; you just blot out that memory and deny that its in some land fill rotting or was recycled to make something new.

maybe the point of love lost is that it always will be found again or make someone else very happy. hmm.

i am basking in similies and metaphors.


good god, if i could play this on the piano, i could die single and happy.

mouthwash-kate nash

cannot stop singing and playing this song.

Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry
You don’t know how lovely you are

I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I’ve set you apart

Tell me your secrets
And ask me your questions
Oh, let’s go back to the start

Some days I wish I could hide forever
and once I’m gone leave not a trace
of where I’d like to be.
Right now the tension’s ‘bout to snap—
lash at the ones holding it taught.
Some days, I’m so tired and weary and scared
I think things that I should not;
like running away.

Some days I wish I could disappear
leaving all the world behind me—
and go a place that’s better.
But what is better than now?
(Is later perhaps the grass that’s greener?)
Some days I want to reach out and touch and cry
for what I can see in the now;
such as cabbages and kings.

Funny how you can still feel the same as you did then.


18th birthday advetures of cally and melissa(:

and I don’t know where to start
and I don’t know where to start
you might think its easy but
you might find differently,
you play me like you play poker
you lay down your cards and
leave with all the money
you know too much about me but
i don’t know
i don’t know!
i do know if you got me started
i’d go on
and who’d be
who’d be listening to me

this is from may, but today is a reminiscing kind of day. because i wish for this kind of peace again…

outside with tea and ginger 27th