it may be that i am a muddy thinker. or maybe because my life, excluding the last week of me living in my new home, feels cluttered. i'm being told that, to be a remembered writer, i have to think clearly to write clearly. so in an effort to figure out exactly how it is that i am supposed to think clearly, i've grabbed a cup of water (not a bottle, and straw included - it's a roommate thing), minimized the clothing on my back, walked out to the front porch and while leaning over the newly painted railing, took a deep breath.

it helped but only for a minute. then a plane flew overhead and i felt cluttered again. even clausterphobic, which isn't the most unusual feeling since moving into my new room. the air isn't clean. airplanes, birds, bees, (birds and the bees? sex?), seasonal allergies (although i'm unaffected), homeless people. homeless people drinking beer on our front lawn, so add liter to the list.

do i need a new phone number? that way i'm only partially distracted. the new location helps. a change of scenary helps. new friends help. having John replace my century-old outlets underneath my bookself so i can plug in my stereo helps. it would help if i wasn't reminded of failures so often. and more sex would help. ahmm, i'm just saying.

do i need yoga in my life? Hil suggested it. what else is there.... meditation. buddhism. i know that i need to start running again but the holes in my mouth don't allow for a less painful activity than it already is. dancing is good. painting is really good. reading should be good, but half the time technology catches up to me somewhere in between chapters four or five.

smaller paragraphs, smaller paragraphs.

so, for readership purposes, i'm going to try writing here a lot more. journalism style is about to take over my life, and i think i can make a balance if i keep up right.... here.