let's escape.

I wrote this in a journal two years ago:

promises, falsetto.

i am tired
of false hope and weather balloons- unmanned vehicles of imagination sent up and mistaken for something more extraordinary, until gravity's hands intervene.

This may have only meaning to me, but I think I'm able to spot the weather balloons now. And as tempting as flying saucers are, those beautiful spectacles that make your mind sift and turn, be wary of sticking your head up into the clouds with them. Chances are they're not there for the same reasons as you.

Now that I have sufficiently confused you, what a weekend.

Hiking along the beach, baby seal rescue, hippie hill bongo watch, kurt cobain karaoke, many an emotion, fever of 103 and a glorious trip to the ER to top it all off. I live a fairly interesting life when I'm not deathly ill.

Even with the fever I was having a better time than I am now post-chemo. I'd forgotten just how the Adriamycin felt: the metallic taste in your mouth, the feeling of your sinuses/eyeballs/head on fire, the nausea and best of all, the hiccups. I will be out of commission for the rest of April, essentially. And then gloriously reborn in May just in time for hot air balloon rides, symphonies, and most importantly, my birthday.

I'm going to pretend 23 never existed.