sand

Sometimes I write beautiful things, but you have to go searching for them. They tend to be buried under the sand that is all of my other jumbled thoughts, thoughts that do not necessarily need to be shared with the world wide web, yet they are. And that's fine, no problem, we are all just grains of sand along a long, abandoned coast anyway. Some of us are used to make castles, others are used to put out fires. I think I'm the kind of sand you unknowingly take with you and find weeks later in the creases of your sheet and the corners of your pocket. I'm far away from home, but now I'm in yours. I promise to be a quiet roommate.

I am currently reading a Japanese book about sand. So I have sand on the brain. Not literally on the brain, which would put me in a curious position. If the sand stuck to my brain isn't causing any ill side effects, then...??? Then I guess just deal with it? The brain looks like cauliflower. No part of me wants to eat sand encrusted cauliflower, but I will gladly eat a brain dipped in hummus.

I never envisioned my post-college life to be full of composing mostly incoherent blog posts. This isn't a disappointment per se, but perhaps I should start aiming a little higher.

Higher. Did you know marijuana was leaked into the water in Colorado? I am not entirely sure what I just said is true. I may have heard the story incorrectly. Look, it's not up to me to get the facts straight. It's only up to me to immediately move to Colorado and begin consuming large quantities of tap water.

You know who I'll miss deeply? Obama. There. I said it. All of the Obamas. Barack and Michelle and the girls and Bo. Maybe I'll see them somewhere down the road in Hawaii when they are building a sand White House out of me. A girl/grain of sand can dream.