But on the desk is where I want you...

I feel all the lingering benefits of human interaction for now. I am thankful for even these small impersonal exchanges. Some reprieve from the somewhat serious, thoughtful novel I am nearly finished reading, is proving a good thing. When all else fails I can watch Bijou sprint towards the stairs without an ample leap and skid into a face plant at the far end of the dining room- like just now. He’ll tear the loose packing paper to ribbons, he’ll hunt shoelaces with vigor. So, as I was saying before… reading The Coma by Alex Garland, twittering to Raishawn, texting to Paige, emailing resumes, talking to Lily, talking to David. I feel so full of affection, unlike the often deflated- cold feeling I find myself reeling in. Everything seems to grow exponentially in the positive, as though possibilities multiply. I was walking earlier and thought to myself:

“It is time, opening my eyes- I am a concierge. I am the Innkeepers daughter, lurking the halls late into the night. I am a secret keeper, small pale hands clamped over quivering lips. I am a chalice of the unspoken- fill me up.”

Not really sure where that is going maybe I will write a short story or a poem, incorporating real life hotel stories told through the lens of colonial America. Perhaps it will be no more than porn in my brain, either way. I continue to overindulge in Morrissey, Neil Gaiman, soy lattes and twitter. I have been very, very bad.