snake bit

Spending the morning of my first plain old unscheduled day off in recent memory picking a half-dozen chinese chestnut stickers out of my rage lines was just symbolic enough to make me want to throw up. Sometimes the tree you go to have a private breakdown under just happens to be a thorntree, and you wake up with your hands on fire. Sometimes it's not a metaphor, sometimes you're just plain dumb. 

Today, I'm used a "cleave" ribbon to tie my hair back and I cut myself a new pair of cutoffs from a pair of jeans. They turned out nice-looking. I found a note in the back pocket of them, and it was strange to recognize handwriting like that, even out of context. 

I'm tired. I'm sitting on my front porch, drinking a glass of bitter red wine, watching someone else's fireworks go off across Thornrose in sparkling arches. 

For a girl who is very susceptible to being hurt, I also feel extra sensitive to small acts of compassion. I like it when the older dog-walker neighbors of mine stop to tell me my flowers look pretty when I'm out there working, I liked that my favorite bar tender last night fussed at me over not using the right healing cream on my tattoo, and insisted I take hers. Small gestures of affection mean a lot to me. They make me grateful.

I don't know. Tomorrow I'll get up, run, go to the farmer's market. Hoping the weather will break.