I Wanna Be A Suffragette

I'm deathly sick of that picture of the goddamn dead sunflowers. It's at least three years old, it's been seen before, it's a terrible way to think about beauty in death. It's not part of my color scheme.

I keep thinking of the greatest titles and no content to go with, which is fine because I keep forgetting the titles. I wish I'd been born in 1902 or so. Fountain pens and streetcars! Brownie cameras! I could grow up to be a flapper!



I want massive collections of vibrant color. I spent hours and hours at a lecture today, drawing a huge collection of patterns and taking no notes. I spent all yesterday afternoon singing, "get out of the office, and into the springtime!". I haven't seen so many people in public for months.

I'm wearing maroon brocade pants. I dropped my coat in the mud to chase a boy up my street. I numbed my toes wading in the river. I fell over on the stairs. I ordered a sundae and got an ice-cream cone. I'm getting a tetanus shot next week. I've been worrying for weeks about how I'm going to explain that I will not be able to put on a Band-Aid.

I've had this romantic image of going running. I'm going to try and appreciate every warm day this year. I wanna go kite flying.

The springtime is the season
Where everyone's a friend
Loneliness and desperation both come to an end
No matter how you died through winter,
In spring you're born again
Your life might not be going good,
But spring helps you to pretend
- Of Montreal, "Springtime Is The Season"