I wrote this last night.
Since a power outage two days ago, the digital clock in my bedroom has been flashing at 4:17. I am cocooned in my bed, with a constant hour and my nails long, because I don't have so much anxiety now. Reading books with no context and old Elle magazine articles, and I really just feel so good, hungry, carbonated, air conditioned, because I'm trying to cut out ands and not sound like a broken record or a 4:17 power outaged clock.
After reading over posts from the beginning of my blog I feel sad and pathetic. Maybe my writing should only be read once.
Tomorrow I want to make a long, long post. Maybe about the music I listen to, as after a few anxious tweets I feel ok being exposed.